


Depend on You

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A very unique sort of, Bug bites, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Set vaguely in season 2, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: After an encounter with a rare kind of insect, the paladins end up covered in a series of itching, burning bug bites.  Which leaves them with a dilemma: If they scratch, then the bites will all stop itching, but it compromises their immune system, and they'll need to be in quarantine for two weeks  - which means absolutely no Voltron.  If they hold out for one week, the bites will fade naturally.But until then, there is no relief.  Just strength of will.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BajillionKittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BajillionKittens/gifts).



> This was written at the request of BK!

"This," Hunk said, with great feeling, "is the worst mission we've ever had."

As he spoke, his fingers twitched and clenched in the air. His breathing came in short, fast bursts, and he shifted unhappily from foot to foot.

His bare forearms were covered in red welts. Bug bites that itched and burned for the relief of itching.

Just as Hunk's fingers started to twitch up, there was a blur of blue. Coran smacked his hand down firmly, then pointed warningly at him. "Not until I've finished my scans," he ordered, as authoritative as Coran ever got. "Keep your hands in your lap, Number Two."

Whining openly, Hunk set his jaw and eyed Coran. But he obligingly dropped his hands into his lap.

"Please tell me you have something for this," Shiro said, fighting to keep his voice even. He sat down on one of the cots, curled in slightly on himself like he wanted to bolt for the door, but was managing not to. He was shirtless as well — all five of the paladins were — but he looked like he wanted to put his armor back on, damn the bug infestation. 

Coran huffed at him. "Itching cream? Of course we do. But I don't know what kind to use until I know the kind of bug you all attracted, and what kind of poison they use."

At the word poison, Lance sat up. "Wait, what? I thought this was just a bug bite. We were poisoned?"

"What did you think caused the irritation?" Pidge asked.

"I don't know," Lance said. He threw both his arms up, then rolled his shoulders to try and itch without itching. At Coran's bland look, he stilled. "Bug stuff. This is a lot of bites, Coran. Are we going to get sick?"

Allura cleared her throat. "I'm sure that's not the case," she said diplomatically. Despite her words, she was keeping careful distance from the paladins, and even more so from their discarded armor tops. "But there are many different and unique creatures in the universe, so it's best to make sure Coran is able to provide the right treatment. Besides, scratching is a bad idea in general. Bites like these have a tendency to..." She trailed off, her nose wrinkling. "Burst."

"That sounds like personal experience," Keith said. He eyed Allura through his bangs. his fingers tightly wrapped in the fabric of his pants.

Allura pressed her lips thin. "I spent plenty of time outdoors as a young child," she said, only a hint defensively. "Bug bites were inevitable."

"Poking a nest of Eumpfils was not," Coran muttered, mostly to himself. Judging by how he didn't even look up from scanning Pidge, he probably hadn't meant to say it.

Glaring at the back of his head, Allura straightened herself. "Even so, it's best to be careful. I'm sorry that you must tolerate this for the moment, but it'll be worth it when you can rest easily soon."

Pidge started to reach up absently to scratch her bare shoulder, but Coran smacked her hand down as well. She winced but didn't argue. "How did those things even get through our armor? Those things are space-proof. They should definitely be bug proof. And I kept my visor up the entire time!"

"That is concerning," Coran agreed. "And it's something we'll be sure to look into and fix as soon as you all around about to squirm out of your skins." The device in his hand beeped. Coran turned and plugged it into a slot on the console. "Just a few more ticks, now."

Lance eyed Pidge. "Why didn't you drop your visor, anyway?"

"That place was covered in flowers. Allergies."

Lance made a face and nodded his understanding. Then he rolled his shoulders again and groaned. "Has it been enough ticks yet, Coran?"

"I promise you, I am not withholding information for my own amusement. It's simply not-" There was a soft beep from the computer. "Ah, there it is. You simply need a healthy dose of-" He froze completely, his eyes wide. "Oh."

Hunk covered his face with both hands. "That's a bad noise. That's a really bad noise."

"Not necessarily," Shiro said, with game optimism. "Coran?"

"Well," Coran said, drawing out the word. "The good news is that our database recognizes these particular bites. The bad news is that I had no idea they'd spread to the Zyrivo system." He typed quickly, and a star map came up. "That's halfway across the galaxy. How did they manage to get so far? Someone didn't properly decontaminate, that's for sure."

Lance's hands curled in the open air, either like he desperately wanted to scratch his arms, or like he wanted to scratch at Coran. "But you know what it is, so the cure is coming in just a few seconds. Ticks. Whatever. Right?"

"I'm afraid not."

Head snapping up, Keith pressed his lips thin. "Let me guess," he drawled. "It's some obscure ingredient on an absurdly dangerous planet that we have to go and get."

Coran's brows rose as he sat up straighter. "Goodness, no. Nothing like that! You'll be staying on the ship until the next mission for certain. There's just nothing to be done. Wumpra bites don't respond to any treatment."

Pausing, Allura looked over the paladins with renewed sympathy. "Wumpra bites? In this section of the universe? That's indeed worrying."

Pidge narrowed her eyes at them both, then shook her head hard enough to make her curls fly up wildly. "So we just, what, suffer? For how long? A couple of days?"

"One movement."

There was a long, painful silence.

"Well, screw this," Lance said, downright cheerful. He brought his hands down to scratch over his arm.

"No!" Allura dove forward and grabbed his wrists before he could, nearly yanking him clean off his cot. 

At first, Lance scowled, denied his relief. Then he registered just how close Allura was to his bare chest and he went red. "Why not?" He demanded, without quite as much heat as he'd directed at Coran.

Allura squeezed his wrists harder in warning, which was enough to make Lance wince. She let go immediately after, apologetic but firm. "Wumpra bites are exceedingly irritating, yes. But the real danger is that they compromise the immune system with their poison. This is not a problem until you scratch, and the delicate skin is broken. Then even the castle's filtered systems won't be able to keep you safe. You'll have to go into quarantine for nearly two movements. Which means no Voltron."

There was another long silence as the gravity of that set in.

If even one of them gave in, that was about two weeks of no Voltron. Not to help any distress signals, not to save anyone from disasters, not to defend themselves from Galra assaults. The Castle of Lions could do a lot, but it was only one ship, and made for defense rather than offense.

"One week of no scratching," Shiro said, voice lower and more serious. He stood slowly, then held his chin up high. "We're paladins of Voltron. We've trained ourselves to keep concentration even in battle situations. This won't be easy, but I believe we're all more than capable of the task."

In the face of his steely confidence, it was hard to disagree. 

Allura nodded to Shiro, a smile pulling up her lips. "Well said. I am very sorry for this, and we'll certainly be reviewing the suits to make sure nothing like this can happen again. If we'd had any idea that Wumpra were out this far in the universe, you would have known about the danger long before you set foot on that planet. But I believe you're all more than capable of withstanding this."

Coran cleared his throat. "Not that I disagree," he said slowly. "Not at all. But in the case of any slips, I want to stress how important it is not to hide it. The effects of these bites are incredibly serious when exposed to open air. Even in an environment like the Castle of Lions, it's possible to be exposed to all kinds of illnesses, especially with all the places we travel. If you scratch, or any of the bites are burst even on accident, then you are to report to myself, the princess, or Shiro immediately. Quarantine is a bother, but it's better than any of you catching something that will take weeks more to recover from. Or worse." He eyed them all pointedly.

"We could die if we scratch?" Pidge asked, her voice jumping up a pitch.

"Not immediately, but if you walk around with a Wumpra suppressed immune system? It's possible."

Lance's face was ashen as he dropped his hands to the table. "Oh. That's a pretty good reason not to scratch."

"Or at least to tell someone about it," Hunk muttered darkly, staring down at his own arms.

"All of it is a good reason not to scratch." Keith sighed and turned to Coran again. "Do you have mittens?"

Coran blinked rapidly, then tilted his head. "I don't think that word translated correctly. Meh-tens?"

Lance shook his head and flopped onto his back. Then he immediately jolted up and looked over his shoulder, making sure he hadn't burst any of the bites. "They don't have rain on Altea. No rain means no snow, which means no mittens."

"Fine. They're like... gloves. Like the gauntlets for the armor, but thicker and with one big rounded space for most of the fingers. They keep your hand warm but they don't let you use your fingers." Keith held his top four fingers together, and kept his thumb to the side, showing the shape. "You can't really scratch with them on."

Allura glanced at Coran, who still looked baffled. "No, I don't believe we have those. But I'm sure we could make some."

"I'll do it," Hunk said, raising his hand with a sigh. "I have a pattern I used for making my oven mittens. I'll do that in a less abrasive fabric, since they don't have to be heat resistant."

Shiro nodded and started to clap a hand onto Keith's shoulder, then paused at the last second. "Good plan, you two. Since our uniforms need to be cleaned and investigated anyway, I suggest we stick to the pajamas we were provided." He didn't look particularly happy about the suggestion, though Lance visibly perked. "They're long sleeved, which will help keep another layer between the bites and the environment. The silky material will be better than most cloth, too."

Allura looked between them all and folded her hands in front of her. "You all seem to have this all well in hand. Please let Coran or I know if there is anything else we can do for you."

"An anti-inflammatory?" Pidge drawled, sulkily pushing up her fingers. "Or a general antihistamine?"

Coran quirked a brow. "I would if it would do you any good. Unless you have other swelling you need dealt with."

Sighing, Pidge slumped. "Alright. I'm going to take the world's longest shower, now. Please tell me we don't need to do any other training today."

"You're all off the hook," Shiro agreed. "I suggest you find something distracting to do."

"Already on it." Pidge hopped off the cot and shot one last glance at the pile of armor, then marched out of the room still shirtless.

Lance climbed to his feet next. He turned to Keith and pointed dramatically, eyes burning and chest puffed up. "I'm going to last longer than you!" He declared.

Immediately, Keith tensed. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not going to scratch," Lance said. "But I bet you do. And if we crack, I bet you do before me."

Keith bristled, leaning back from Lance's loud declaration, and then forward before the weakness could be exploited. "No one's going to crack. Did you not hear Coran say you could die if you do?"

"Only if you hide—" Hunk began.

"Doesn't matter!" Lance continued to point, though he started to droop. "It's a bet."

"No, it isn't!"

Shiro cleared his throat. "I'll take you up on that bet, Lance."

Immediately, Lance went stiff. But he regained his bravado in moments and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! You're on, Shiro."

"Is that fair?" Hunk muttered, half to himself. "Shiro has less body to be itchy."

Allura cleared her throat. "Well, he is taller and broader. He might make up for the prosthetic in bulk."

"Oh, good point."

Keith stood as well, turning to frown at Shiro. "Why are you going along with...?" He trailed off and gestured vaguely at Lance's face.

Shiro shrugged. "It's a motivational tactic. Right?" He tilted his head, eyes on Lance. "You were getting a bet going so we'd all have an additional reason not to scratch."

A smile curled at the corner of Lance's mouth. "Sure. And Keith's the instincts guy. I think I can outlast him."

"Is not dying really not enough?" Keith sighed. "Whatever. Fine."

Lance whooped and threw both his arms in the air. "Gunna beat you. Me and Hunk—"

"When did I get wrapped into this?"

"—are going to absolutely cream you two!"

Shiro smiled back, and there was just a hint of fang to the expression. "You're certainly welcome to try."

Stilling again, Lance cleared his throat. "Sure, right." Then he grabbed Hunk by the wrist, careful not to hit any bites. "Come on, let's get the video game system before Pidge does." Hunk nodded and the two of them set off at a job.

Keith watched them go, brows up. "I think Lance may have just learned his lesson about challenging you at something."

"I hope not. It's fun to catch him unawares." Shiro watched them go, still smiling wolfishly. "My afternoon plan was to work on mission reports, but that's not going to keep my attention very well. Want to try one of the Altean documentaries again?"

Snorting, Keith nodded. "Yeah, I was going to spar, but that's probably just as bad as scratching. And those documentaries are—" He froze, remembering that Allura and Coran were still in the room with him. "Fascinating."

"Mhmm," Allura said, eyeing them both. "As I said before, call if you need anything. I hate to put more on your shoulders, but I hope you'll check up on the others? They're... not always as disciplined."

Shiro's brow rose, but he didn't argue. "I already planned on it," he agreed. "Have a good afternoon, Princess, Coran."

"Good luck!" Coran called cheerfully, watching the pair of them go. Once they were out the door, he sighed. "They're all going to need it."

*

Hunk stared up the ceiling of Lance's room. "I said it before, and I was right. This has been the worst mission ever."

Laying out next to him in a sprawl, Lance grunted his agreement. He laid with one mitten-covered hand over his face. The controllers for the console remained between them, the screen displaying the game over message on constant, flashing loop.

It turned out that it was very uncomfortable to play video games with hands covered in bug bites. Especially as they started to swell up more and more. It hadn't even been a full afternoon yet, but already the itching had become all but unbearable. It was constant, and never quite faded enough to properly ignore it. Worse, it interfered with just about every possible pass time. Anything that required hands or movement to do would inevitably aggravate the swelling.

They'd already had goo for dinner tonight, since holding cooking utensils was a problem. It looked like they'd be having goo every meal until this was fixed.

"Worst. Mission. Ever," Hunk ground out again.

Lance sighed and flipped onto his side. "Come on, man. Can we at least talk about something else? Getting mad at this isn't helping me forget about it."

Rolling a swollen, mittened hand, Hunk turned his head to stare right back at him. "Go ahead. What do you want to talk about?"

There was a long silence.

Finally, Lance sighed and mashed his face into the floor. "Yeah, this is the worst mission ever."

"How far do your bites go down?"

"Dude!"

"I don't want to see! I just want to know how far yours go down." Hunk squirmed in place, a whole body jerk like he tried to rub his back but stopped himself.

Lance eyed him, then huffed. "Like... not quite knee. Most of my thighs. It really sucks. There's bug bites on my butt. That should be illegal. We should be allowed to bomb that planet from space when there's bug bites on my butt." He paused. "What about you?"

"Mid-thigh," Hunk agreed. "It sucks. Whenever I move around, they keep rubbing together. Do you think that counts as itching? It doesn't help — kinda hurts, really. But what if they rub together enough and they break and I die?"

"You're not going to die from lack of thigh gap."

"But what if I do?"

Lance started to scrub over his face with his mitten, then groaned and yanked his hand away. He gave a shiver, like all of his skin was trying to crawl off of him. "We just have to make it a little while longer."

"Six days."

"Maybe it'll be less?"

There was a disbelieving silence.

Lance groaned and kicked sulkily at the controller. It skittered away on the floor and smacked into the wall, hopefully too gently to do damage. Pidge would kill him. "I can't believe there's nothing to do. The Alteans are always bragging about how much better they are, but we can make bug bites itch less. Who's more advanced now?"

Considering the ceiling again, Hunk hummed thoughtfully. "A planet without rain might have less bugs. I wonder if the lack of remedies is because of lack of cultural familiarity, or just because of these particular bugs."

"They had stuff for other bugs, right? Coran just didn't know what kind. And he said all of Pidge's whatevers wouldn't work either." Lance huffed. "We could at least try."

Hunk grunted his agreement, and then they lapsed into silence again.

Running a hand over his chest, Hunk sighed. "We should do something. Laying here is bad. Talking about it is worse."

Lance reached over and pushed down on Hunk's mitten, stopping his rubbing. "Yeah. Before one of us scratches without even thinking about it." He sat up and considered the room. "Skin care stuff is out."

"Completely."

"Wanna go bug Pidge?"

Hunk considered, then pushed himself up to his feet. "Yeah, alright." He rolled his neck until it cracked, ignoring Lance's grossed-out look. Then he offered a hand to help Lance up, though their mittened hands slipped, making him nearly drop the other paladin right back down.

Once up, the two of them trudged down the hall. The workshop was between the paladin quarters and the hangars, so it was a short walk. Hunk didn't even bother knocking, letting himself in with his own code. "Hey, Pidge."

"What?" Pidge asked shortly. 

The room was dark, lit only by a few floating screens. In the middle of them, Pidge sat. She was mummified in at least two blankets, leaving her a soft looking blob curled up in her chair. Her arms stuck out, most of them also as wrapped as possible as she typed away on the keyboard.

While the light situation didn't seem to surprise Hunk, the blankets certainly did. His brow rose as he looked at her. "If I turn on the lights, are you going to hiss like a vampire?"

"Yes."

Hunk did so anyway, and Pidge winced and ducked into her blanket pile. "Why?" She demanded.

"Because I am a human being who needs reflected light to see," he said, rolling his eyes. "You'll live. You always do."

Pidge grumbled but stopped impersonating a vampire turtle. She went back to typing without looking over. "Fine, fine. What do you want? I thought you gave up on working."

Casting a forlorn look at his tools, abandoned after his swollen fingers wouldn't let him work with wires, Hunk nodded. "I did. And we played games again. Didn't work. What are you doing?"

At the word 'we', Pidge finally looked around. She blinked at Lance, then turned around without further acknowledgement. "Busy."

"That's not what you're working on." Hunk rested his arms on the back of her chair, peering easily over the top of her head as he looked at her screen. "You've been at it for hours, and I thought you finished you latest project."

Pidge dismissed the screen in a flash, then whirled around to glare at Hunk. "Would you cut that out?"

"We're just bored," Lance offered, coming up behind Hunk. "We've been trying to distract ourselves all evening, and you've been super focused on what you're doing. What's absorbed you?"

Growling, Pidge gestured to her blanket wrap. "Does this look absorbed to you?" She snapped, lips pulled back into a snarl. "I put this up because I kept almost scratching myself."

Looking down at her bare hands, Hunk sat up straight. "Why did you take off the mittens?"

"I can't type in them." She glared at them for another long moment, then slumped in on herself. It made her blanket shell look like a deflating balloon. "I was improving my face recognition program," she finally admitted. "It was the only thing that kept my attention. Because of these stupid bug bites." 

"Oh," Lance said, wincing. He looked at Hunk, who curled in on himself, distinctly guilty for his pushing. The whole time knew now that the reason Pidge made that program was for her brother. "Can we help?"

"How?" Pidge stared at him, still tense and unhappy. Her shoulders jerked, the abortive movement of a stopped itch, and her expression tightened even further.

Lance shrugged. "I dunno. We take a bunch of really bad pictures and videos of us, like with half-masks or fake hair or something, and see if your program catches it?"

That made Pidge pause. Apparently she hadn't expected an idea that coherent. "I'm not done with the coding yet," she said. "But I'll keep that in mind." With that, she pulled the screen back up and started to type.

But as she did, a pattern quickly became obvious. Rather than Pidge's usual rapid-fire typing, it went it fits and bursts. She'd get a line in, then she'd have to pause and go back to fix something. Her fingers, rather than flying over the board, were swollen and awkward, and often hit extra keys while she worked.

She said nothing about the practice, doggedly continuing on. But from how stiff she was, it was clearly frustrating her. Despite that, she pointedly said nothing to either of them.

Finally, Lance sighed. "Well, good luck."

Pidge grunted and didn't so much as twitch her head.

With that settled, for a certain definition of the word, Lance trudged off with Hunk in tow. "So that was a bust. Where to next?"

"I could try—" Hunk looked down at his mitten-clad hands and scowled. "Nevermind. Ugh. I keep thinking 'I should bake something.' I starting thinking through all the recipes I was going to try out at my next chance, and then I remember that I can't do any of it." The fingers clenched into fists. "I hate this, Lance."

Lance patted him very gently on the shoulder, which made Hunk jolt as the bites were touched unexpectedly. "Sorry! Sorry. I know, buddy. Me too. It's just a week, though? We survived Dos Santos' class for a whole semester. We can survive this."

Sighing, Hunk let his head drop forward as he breathed. Then he nodded. "Yeah. Okay, no cooking. No hand activities. If we go talk to Coran and say we're bored, he'll have stuff for us to do, but it'll be chores."

"If you do that, I'm not going with you. I refuse."

"I was ruling it out, not suggesting it. We could try Allura, or we could see what Shiro and Keith are up to."

Lance considered, then glanced at Hunk through the corner of his eye. "Do you think Keith broke yet?"

Lips pressed thin, Hunk closed his eyes. "Lance. Come on, man."

"I know, I know!" Lance wrapped his fingers around his opposite upper arms, like the castle was freezing cold. "I just figured it'd help, you know? I can't scratch now, I have to beat Keith. That kind of thing. And then if I do break, it's not so bad as long as I'm not first."

"None of us are supposed to break," Hunk said tonelessly. He stared down at his mittens again, only glancing up as they turned a corner in the hall. "We'll be down another lion. That's not good no matter what."

"But it's different to be down a lion 'cause we're sick, rather than down Voltron."

"Lance," Hunk repeated, firmer this time. "Stop talking about that."

Lance winced and dropped his arms. "Right. Yeah. Good point. Let's go find Keith and Shiro, then. Maybe they found something distracting to do." His nose crinkled. "I hope they're not, like, meditating or something?"

Pausing, Hunk looked over. "Do they meditate? I didn't know that."

"I don't know. But it's a really Shiro thing to do, right? Like..." He closed his eyes and held both hands out in front of him, bent backward at the wrist and held loosely. "Patience yields focus. Be one with the universe and Voltron. Blah blah."

"I dare you to do that in front of him."

"You want me to die?"

Before Hunk could continue goading, a shout echoed down the hall. "Just admit that you're wrong, already!" Keith demanded, sounding surprisingly heated.

"I can't do that," Shiro shot back, just as sharp. "Because I'm not wrong."

Lance and Hunk froze and stared at each other, eyes wide. In their months as paladins, neither of them had ever heard Keith and Shiro fight. Spar, obviously, and snap, on rare occasion. But never out and out fight.

They shared a nod, then both scrambled down the hall to the rec room.

Shiro and Keith were on the same couch, one at each end. Keith was on his knees, one hand braced on the back to keep himself upright. The other was pointed directly at Shiro, who was slumped in the opposite corner, arms crossed and jaw set sulkily. Neither seemed to notice their new audience.

"You are," Keith all but growled out. "I know you're wrong. I remember it. You were the one who taught me it!"

"Well, then you learned wrong. You remembered it poorly, because I know for a fact that it was 2076, not 2079." Shiro tilted his head up stubbornly as he met Keith's frustrated gaze.

Keith sat back on his heels, but didn't stop his furious stare. "This doesn't work if you can't admit you got a stupid fact wrong, Shiro. The Titan colony project was launched in 2077, how could they have been established a year earlier?"

"That's what this is about?" Lance burst out, making them both freeze. He gestured back toward the door as he rolled his eyes. "We could hear you all the way down the hall, and you're arguing over history trivia?"

Startling, Shiro pushed himself up so he was sitting straight, rather than slumped like a sulky teenager. He flattened his shirt with a mitten-covered hand, clearly making himself presentable. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said sincerely, immediately dropping his previous tone like it had never existed. "We'll be sure to keep it to a more reasonable level."

"Nevermind that," Keith said, waving him off. "Hunk, what year was the Titan colony founded?"

Lance straightened up and scowled. "Why aren't you asking me?"

"Do you know?"

"Well, not that particular date," Lance admitted. "But I know some dates. I was in the same classes as you!"

Keith didn't even rise to the bait of Lance's tone. He just continued to stare at Hunk with all the uncomfortable intensity he was known for.

Hunk held up both his hands, leaning back from the force of the stare. "Am I going to be in trouble if I answer honestly?"

"Of course not," Shiro said.

At the same moment, Keith raised a brow. "So long as you say the right answer."

"I think— and I'm not sure! I don't really like dates. But I think it's 79. Sorry, Shiro." Hunk winced and shrugged.

Keith whirled on Shiro, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. "Hah!"

Snatching the pillow out of the air with his non-mittened prosthetic arm, Shiro's friendly, professional expression crumpled like dust. "Dammit. Thank you, Hunk." He eyed him darkly, lips pressed thin.

"You said I wasn't going to be in trouble!" Hunk's shoulders drooped at the betrayal.

Shiro just narrowed his eyes at Keith. "That was when I thought you would back me up."

"That's not remotely fair."

Lance stepped forward, hands out like he was going to separate the two of them. "Okay, no, back up. I had a question, here, remember? Are you two really arguing over date trivia? Because that's really bad. That's like, pocket protector and taped up glasses bad."

Tucking the caught pillow against his chest, Shiro shrugged. "It's an old habit. I used to help quiz Keith before big tests. If he got a certain percentage right, we'd do something to celebrate. But it turned into competition for its own sake at some point. We haven't done this in ages, but it was a non-physical way to pass the time."

Keith nodded and finally sat properly on the couch. He tucked himself up into a little ball, either like he instinctively wanted to take up as little space as possible, or because it gave him less opportunities to scratch. "It works better when we can look up the answers."

"No kidding." Hunk leaned against the back of the couch, looking down at them both. "You guys mentioned the documentaries before. Didn't hold your attention?"

Shiro's lips pressed thin. "It was interesting for a little while. But without context of what's normal and what's unique, it all becomes a little..." He rolled a hand, looking for a word.

"Utterly nonsensical?" Keith offered blandly.

"I was going to say 'overwhelming,' but I can't argue that." He looked around. "But don't repeat that where the mice can hear. Allura might take it as a challenge to educate us."

Lance shuddered. "Yeah, let's not do that. We're already being tortured for the next week." He looked between them both and sighed, resting his head on Hunk's shoulder (without any pressure, though Hunk still jolted at the contact). "You know what's awful? I'm bored enough that I'm actually considering joining your nerd game."

Keith snorted. "Way to invite yourself."

"Keith," Shiro said warningly.

"What? He could at least ask. Even I know that's polite."

Shiro inclined his head to Lance. "You're welcome if you'd really like to, but I don't know that it'd be especially engaging. Like you said, it's mostly trivia, and most of the enjoyment comes from familiar arguments and facts rather than the activity itself being interesting."

"Fair enough." Lance took a deep breath and let it go with a huff. "Alright, we'll try Allura next, then."

Hunk nodded, crossing his arms firmly as he shifted from foot to foot. More than once, his hands twitched like the wanted to creep up and down and finally just itch himself. "I can't believe I'm offering this, but maybe the mice want a bath."

Keith and Shiro shared a quick glance, and then he sighed. "We could try the documentaries for a little while," he offered. "It was distracting for about an hour."

It was better than helping the notoriously splash-happy mice, so Lance nodded and vaulted over the back of the couch. He landed on the cushions, then jolted and groaned. "Ow! Oh, weird, bad feeling. Didn't think that through." He squirmed violently as he resisted the nearly overpowering urge to scratch his thighs after the impact.

Reaching out, Shiro snagged both his wrists. "Woah, there. Breathe through it. I know you can."

It took several more seconds, where Lance stayed tense. His arms jerked once, violently hard, as he tried one more time to scratch. But Shiro held firm, and then Lance finally took several long, calming breaths.

"Okay," Lance said, quiet and rough. "I got it now."

"Are you sure?" Shiro asked, utterly without judgement. "I can hold on for longer."

There was a long pause, then Lance nodded. "Yeah. Let go." Shiro did. Lance held his hands in the moment for a second longer, visibly working them through the mittens. Then he dropped them into his lap and took another deep breath. "Okay. I'm good. Sorry."

"We all get it," Keith said softly. He picked his tablet off the table and started one of the projected screens. A documentary began to play where it had been paused earlier.

Moving over, Hunk settled in next to Lance, carefully keeping him and Keith separated, just in case sitting next to each other was too much of a temptation. He sat down much more carefully. "Thank you, guys."

"No problem," Keith said, tone so casual he might as well have offered a tissue.

Shiro nodded. "It's not an imposition." He watched the screen for a moment, then reached for his own tablet. "I'll call Pidge. She shouldn't miss out."

"Don't," Lance said. "We went there first. She really wasn't in the mood for people."

Humming his understanding, Shiro settled back down. "Understood. I'll talk to her in the morning."

Lance nodded and settled back down again, still unusually quiet and hands fisting in his pants.

They all stayed quiet for the show, despite most of the commentary sounding like gibberish.

The documentary didn't really help. It wasn't engaging enough to draw attention away from the constant, burning, swelling itching.

But being together did.

* **

 

Pidge hated these sheets.

Never mind that she'd never had a problem with them before. Clearly she had awful, terrible, badly made sheets, and she'd just never noticed before. They had to be, to explain the way they scraped over her skin. She tried to turn over onto her side, hoping that the smaller surface area would minimize her discomfort. But like the dozen other times she'd tried that same technique that night, it only put more pressure on a smaller area. Each of the bites were sensitive and swollen, and when she tried to close her eyes and relax, she could feel them pulse in time with her heartbeat.

That wasn't even factoring in the itch.

The constant, maddening, full body-itch. It made her skin shiver and crawl. Just when she thought she could block it out and ignore it, the need would come roaring back until her whole body jolted with the need to dig her nails against her skin.

Pulling her pillow to her chest, Pidge gripped the fabric instead. She pushed her face into the fabric and let out a loud groan.

No one could hear her in her room anyway, especially when muffled.

It had been hours since she'd gone to bed. Even if Pidge hadn't checked a few times by now, she would have known it just from how long she'd been suffering. She'd worked on her program until her eyes crossed, and she'd figured she'd just lay down and pass out, like every time she'd worked too late on a project.

But today was a new kind of torture. Because rather than blissful sleep, Pidge couldn't even relax. Not when she was so stiff from the primal, instinctive desire to claw herself.

Why had their stupid suits failed, anyway? Upon investigation, Coran had shown them the tiny holes the creatures had created in their suits. Acidic secretions, apparently. Just right to cut through cloth, but quick fading so it didn't burn the skin below and alert the paladins something was wrong. It was a damn good thing they hadn't needed to go into open space after, because they all would have died from the dozens of tiny holes.

Shouldn't their suits be better than that? Acid proof? Bug proof? Weren't Alteans supposed to be so great? Why couldn't they make something that worked?

Pidge flipped onto her back again, then groaned as the fabric of her shirt and the sheets below scraped like sandpaper against the burning bites. She clutched her pillow to her chest and glared up at the ceiling. Her hair clung to her forehead and cheeks, and tomorrow it was going to be a tangled mess.

Just one more great thing.

"I hate this," she told the ceiling. "This isn't fair."

The ceiling didn't care.

Neither did the bug bites heal, chastised by their own immorality. 

Bad enough that Pidge couldn't sleep. Bad enough that it made typing painful. Bad enough that her body looked like a mottled horror show of bites. The worst part that there was nothing to be done. No creams, no pills, no pods. No clever solution. It had just happened, and now they had to suffer for a week for no good reason at all.

Pidge kicked the covers off in a fit of frustration. The castle air was chillier in the night cycle. It apparently encouraged better sleep.

That worked great. Just like the Altean suits. Good job, guys.

Digging her fingers in harder, Pidge pulled on the fabric of the pillow like she was trying it in two. Her fingers protested the strain, but the taut fabric felt so good against her swollen, bitten fingers. It was a firm but not unyielding pressure. It hurt, but like poking a healing bruise hurt. Satisfying.

It was almost like scratching.

It was so, tantalizingly close to it that it hovered on the edge of relief. Pidge closed her eyes and groaned, her whole body tense.

She wanted it. Pidge was so bad at telling herself no. A long-term goal was one of the few things that could keep her from instant gratification. It had always been a mystery, how people would turn down things they wanted for lofty reasons. No cookies because of a diet. Why not have the cookies? Wasn't that more fun that being hungry and cookie-less?

It was important. Voltron was important. The universe was important.

But that was so distant and so theoretical compared to how her skin itched right now.

"No," Pidge told herself, flipping over again. Her back ached, denied the possible relief of contact with her bed. Her front prickled, screaming at her to just push down, to just wriggle a little, just scratch a bit. Surely something as minor as that couldn't be a problem?

Pidge reached down for her blanket and pulled it back over her. She held onto the top edge with both hands, on either side of her shoulder. She pulled it down hard over her shoulders, meaning to pin herself down and cut off the temptation.

Instead, the line of tense fabric rubbed against her shoulder blades like a piece of rope.

Right on her spine, one bite in particular suddenly jumped to the front of Pidge's mind. It itched. It burned. It was just under the top of the blanket. If she just...

Just rubbed a bit.

Pidge shifted her hands from side to side, barely an inch. Just that much, and she'd stopped.

It felt so good. It felt amazing. Exactly the relief she'd needed this whole time. So close to being perfect, just a little more-

Pidge pushed up into the blanket, and rubbed it again, harder this time, and going farther.

It was perfect.

It was-

Something popped.

Then moisture trickled down Pidge's back.

All at once, the itching stopped.

At first, the sheer relief made Pidge gasp and drop the blanket. Her heart hammered in her chest, and primal joy filled her. It was like finally sleeping after Zarkon had chased them for days, or drinking water after too long in the summer sun. It was exactly what she'd needed at exactly the right moment.

But then reality crashed back down.

Pidge sat up and dropped the blanket, then touched along her back. When she dipped under her shirt, her finger hit something wet.

When she pulled her hand back to look, there was red staining the tips of her fingers.

She'd broken.

Less than a day in, and she'd broken.

Tears filled Pidge's eyes, the complicated mixture of exhaustion, relief, and dismay all cracking straight through her defenses. She'd screwed up, and she couldn't do anything to make it better. Instead she was going to have to go tell everyone, and then go in quarantine for almost two weeks.

Biting on her bottom lip, Pidge scrambled out of her room. Her heart hammered, dread trickling through her like internal bleeding.

Without thinking, she immediately made a beeline for Shiro's room. Pidge rapped her knuckles against the metal door, quietly at first. Part of her hoped that Shiro was awake like he always seemed to be, and he could quietly get her to quarantine without anyone else knowing, and she wouldn't have to face anyone else. Shiro would fix this. That was his job.

But there was no answer to her quiet knocks. Pidge's hands began to shake minutely, and she could feel the vibrations through her whole body, like the itching from before.

She'd broken, and there would be no Voltron for two weeks. All because she couldn't help herself. How many people were going to suffer just because Pidge had an itch?

Slamming her eyes shut, Pidge gave up and started to knock as hard and loud as she could. "Shiro?" She called, voice growing thick from the building tears. "Shiro! Shiro, please!"

There was the rumble of a door opening, but it wasn't Shiro's. Keith stepped out of his room, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "What's going on? Somethin' wrong?"

Dammit, no! Pidge didn't want anyone else seeing this. She shook her head hard. "No. Go back inside."

But of course Keith didn't. He blinked at her in sleepy confusion. "What do you need Shiro for, then?"

Couldn't he just leave well enough alone? Couldn't he found out what Pidge had done when she didn't have to see his rightful anger and disappointment?

Another door opened, still not Shiro's. Lance stumbled out, dazed and clutching his helmet. "Another drill?" He asked. "We," he paused to yawn hugely, "still don't have our armor back." 

Pidge ignored him, as well as the next door opening, because why not have everyone see? Instead she started to knock again. "Shiro!"

Finally, stupidly late, Shiro's door opened. His bangs stood up, and he had to blink rapidly before he could focus his eyes on her. "Wha's wrong?"

Shiro had been honestly, deeply asleep. Pidge knew him well enough to know how rare that was.

How had he managed when he was covered in bites?

The guilt welled again, finally forcing out another round of tears. They ran down heavily, dripping off her chin and onto her bare feet. 

Shiro's eyes went wide. He straightened fully, immediately awake and alarmed. "Pidge? Pidge, what happened?" He reached down to put a hand on her shoulder, but stopped himself at the last moment.

"I..." Pidge's throat closed up. She didn't want to say. She didn't want to see his reaction. But she had to. "I scratched."

Her voice was small, disgustingly childish. Like a little girl admitting she'd had a bad dream.

Shiro stayed frozen. The three behind Pidge went quiet, waiting as well.

Then, finally, Shiro sighed. It sounded bone deep and pained, but not surprised.

It hurt to hear.

Had Shiro been thinking Pidge would break?

The hand finally settled on her shoulder, just a little heavier than normal. "Alright," Shiro said, voice shockingly even. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but he never looked mad, or even that disappointed.

Just resigned.

"Alright," Shiro repeated, opening his eyes again. "Let's go get Coran to set up the quarantine."

Just like that.

Pidge's stomach flipped. Was he not going to yell at her? Was he not going to remind her what was at stake? "I'm sorry!" She blurted.

"I know," Shiro said, still calm. He put a hand between her shoulder blades and used it to gently guide her around.

In the hallway, everyone else was watching. Hunk gripped the front of his pajamas, eyes wide. Lance leaned against the door frame, tense with his eyes on Shiro. Keith stood stiff and straight, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

Shiro's hand pushed on, gentle as ever. 

Finally, Pidge started to walk, one bare foot in front of the other. "What about Voltron?" She asked. Really, she should just shut up and take this weirdly null mood for the gift it was. But the guilt sat in her stomach and her hands shook. There was a reaction that was supposed to happen and hadn't. Like setting off a bomb without the explosion. It felt wrong. It felt dangerous. 

"We'll get by," Shiro said. This time, he sounded tired, but not accusatory, even now.

Like this was habit. Normal. Just taking on another burden. Another weight that wasn't his to bear, but he'd do it anyway because there was no other choice. All of them would have to, because Pidge had messed up.

The tears came down harder, an unending stream of them. Pidge reached up and wiped over her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she repeated, quieter this time. "I'm so sorry."

"There's no helping it, now," Shiro said. He hesitated, then put his hand on top of her head. He didn't pet or ruffle, just left it there. "I should have spoken to you before bed."

"It's not your fault!" Pidge looked up at him, biting down on her bottom lip so it would stop wobbling. It didn't help. "It's my fault. I messed up. I broke Voltron."

"It's not broken. Just on hold." Shiro closed his eyes. "I can't say I'm happy about this. But let's at least get you safe for now, okay? The last thing we need is for you to get sick on top of this."

Pidge nodded and tried to wipe her eyes dry again. "Okay."

They stopped at Coran's door, and Shiro knocked. It only took a few seconds for Coran to answer. He took one look at Pidge's tear-stricken face and Shiro's quiet resignation. "Ah, I see. I'll take it from here."

"Thank you, Coran." Shiro started to leave, then sighed. He turned back around and cupped the side of Pidge's face. "Rest up, okay? The best thing you can do is heal fast."

Pidge nodded again, eyes slamming shut. "Okay."

With that, she let Coran lead her away. 

Pidge looked over her shoulder one last time, and caught sight of Shiro with his head down and his hands clenched at his side. Then they turned the corner.

Looking up at Coran, who was unusually silent, she swallowed hard. "Why didn't you tell us that scratching makes the itching stop completely?"

There was a long pause. Then Coran sighed. "I thought it would be cruel. It's one thing to resist the urge when you know it's temporary relief. It's another to know it will end the itching completely."

Pidge considered that, then bit back a sigh. It would have been harder to resist if she'd known it would solve the problem completely. If that solution was hovering just a thoughtless movement away.

She'd broken anyway.

Biting back another useless apology, Pidge hug her head.

All she could do was deal with the consequences of her actions and to try and find a way to make up for her mistakes.


	2. Chapter 2

A crash came from further up the hallway.   
  
Shiro's head snapped up, and then he set off toward the noise at a jog.  Not for the first time, he wished they had gotten their armor back. They weren't going on missions unless it was an emergency,  but Shiro just felt more comfortable in his uniform. Prepared. Ready. Now he was running toward a possible threat in his pajamas and barefoot.   
  
It wouldn't be the first time a threat had snuck onto the ship.  Not even the second. Who was to say the universe would really give them a break?   
  
"No, oh  _ no!   _ Come on!" Hunk groaned, his voice echoing eerily in the hallway.  "Ow ow, crap."   
  
Hunk was hurt.   
  
Shiro's eyes narrowed as he sped into a full sprint.  Heart in this throat, he followed the noise, turning to the left then bursting through the door to the kitchen.  "Hunk?" He asked, arm already up ready to defend.    
  
There was no one else in the kitchen.  Hunk stood in front of what served as an oven, one hand held out in front of him and face scrunched up.  A pan lay on the floor, steaming slightly, and the contents were strewn all over.   
  
Looking up, Hunk winced.  "You heard that?" He looked more embarrassed than worried.   
  
An overreaction, but Shiro refused to feel bad.  It was better to be over-prepared for an emergency than to walk into a dangerous situation unarmed.  Relaxing, Shiro nodded and bent down to pick up the pan by the handle. He put the whole thing in the sink, where it steamed harder, but at least it wasn't in danger of being stepped on.  That just left the rest of the hot, blue gunk on the floor.   
  
"I've got it," Hunk insisted.  He stepped up and pushed Shiro's arm out of the way.  "Let me. I made the mess."   
  
"I don't mind helping," Shiro said.  "I'm glad it was just a dropped pan. When I heard a crash and then yelling, I thought it was much worse.  Is your hand alright?"   
  
Hunk's face screwed up again.  He stepped back and put his back to the counter, only to groan when that touched bites under his shirt.  "Yeah. I just didn't think about how heavy the pan was. When I went to pick it up, all the bites on my palm felt like they were going to burst."   
  
Despite his earlier assurances, it was clear Hunk was struggling.  While he was distracted, Shiro went to the sink then wet a cloth. "How does it feel now?"   
  
"Fine.  Nothing popped.  It was just close."  Hunk looked down at his hand, then clenched his fingers.  He winced, but didn't stop. "I just ruined breakfast."   
  
"You shouldn't feel obligated to cook right now.  Not in the least. We've survived off goo before, and we're all used to it now."  Shiro kneeled down to start mopping up the thick blue gunk, then watched Hunk carefully.  "I thought you tried this and gave up yesterday."   
  
Hunk's eyes slammed shut sightly, like he was fighting off tears.  "I did. But I wanted to try again this morning."   
  
Looking him over more carefully, Shiro saw the bags under his eyes, and the slump to his shoulders.  Hunk was exhausted. He probably hadn't slept well at all last night. "Well, no harm done. So long as you're okay, this is easy enough to clean up.  I don't think the pan was hurt, either."   
  
"It's not just that."  Hunk dropped his hands to his side, looking utterly defeated.  "It's not that I feel like I have to cook. It's that I want to.  It helps. I-" He blinked rapidly, staring at the far wall rather than at Shiro.  "I don't like this. Actually, I hate it. It's not even the itching, you know? It's how gross it is.  Last night, whenever I felt my clothes or hair or covers shift, I thought it was bugs crawling on me. And I jolted back awake immediately, terrified there were more of them and they'd been waiting in bed for me."   
  
Shiro's heart clenched.  Scooping up as much goop as he could for now, he dropped the cloth in the sink, then settled in next to Hunk, just far away to keep from directly touching.  "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how frustrating it can be. Is there something I can do to help?"   
  
"Like what?"  Hunk shook his head, still slumped.  "What would help is if I could work on something.  Anything. But I need my hands, Shiro. I know I can be anxious and kind of a mess sometimes, but I can handle it when I can do something.  I build something, or I cook something, or I play a game, or any of it. But I can't do any of that."   
  
Shiro winced and swallowed hard.  "I understand. Even reading with the tablets is difficult right now."   
  
Nodding, Hunk screwed his eyes up.  "So I couldn't even distract myself last night.  I just kept turning over and being uncomfortable and itchy and afraid there were bugs all over me, and-"  He took a series of short, ragged breaths. "So I went to talk to Pidge. Have you seen her yet?"   
  
Dread slowly began to creep into Shiro's stomach.  He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going, but he hoped he was wrong.  "No, I went back to bed once Coran took over. I just woke up long enough ago to do my morning exercises."     
  
Not that Shiro had ever gone back to sleep properly.  He'd had lots of short, feverish dreams that mixed together missions, the castle, the Garrison and the bug bites with no rhyme or reason to them.  Fighting Sendak in the rec room, covered in gritty dirty while the heat rose unbearably. Strapped to the table at the Garrison while giant bugs began to overtake the building.  Each barely a few minutes before he'd startle himself awake from sheer confusion and alarm.   
  
Hunk glanced at him from the corner of his eye.  "You should. She'd do better seeing you. Everybody.  She knows she let the team down."    
  
Shiro nodded and resisted the urge to sigh. "I'll speak with her."  He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed. He knew how difficult it was, but they'd all overcome terrible odds for the sake of the universe before.  But he wasn't exactly surprised, either. Not that it was Pidge, but that any of them would break. Shiro himself was already constantly, uncomfortably aware of his body.  The changes Haggar and the arena had caused were sources of confusion and fear. Who knew what else was different, and what it could mean? This was just a new, fresh horror on top of that.   
  
As he thought about his body, the burning and itching ramped up to dangerous levels.  He could feel each individual inch of skin, and all of it hated the contact with his clothes and wanted relief.   
  
Pushing that aside, Shiro met Hunk's eyes.  "I will. Later today." For now, he wanted to make sure his frustrations stayed inside where they belonged.  Yes, Pidge had made a mistake, but it was one he understood. Shiro's anger stemmed from his own symptoms and fears.  No need to make her feel worse.   
  
"Okay," Hunk aid, accepting that without question.  "I figured she'd be asleep. I just wanted to see what quarantine looked like, really.  But she was awake and bored. Never went back to sleep, probably. So we talked. And I realized a few things."   
  
The dread surged back, stronger than before.  Shiro tensed and clenched his hands tightly, resisting the urge to grab Hunk.  He didn't like that fatalistic tone. "What?"   
  
"Well, first of all, she wasn't scratching at all.  Even though she can. That seemed weird to me. So I asked her why, and she tried to avoid answering, but I wouldn't let her."  Hunk straightened up to his full, suddenly intimidating height. Like that, he was almost exactly as tall as Shiro. "She doesn't itch anymore.  At all. Coran didn't say, but when you scratch one, it all stops. Immediately."   
  
It could be over?   
  
Just one little scratch, and Shiro's constant, horrible awareness of his body would be over.  He could stop thinking about his chest and arms and thighs, wear his proper armor again, feel safe.   
  
But to do so would mean no Black Lion for two weeks.  Bad enough they'd lost Voltron. If something happened, they wouldn't have either.   
  
Shiro shoved the knowledge and the temptation away, even if it hurt to do so.  "I understand why Coran would keep that from us," he said, because Hunk was staring, waiting for a response.   
  
After all, Shiro certainly wished he didn't know.  It was so much harder to ignore the siren's call of scratching if he didn't think it would fix everything.   
  
"I don't," Hunk said tightly.  His hands bunched into furious fists again as he stared at the mess on the floor.  "He lied. He should have told us. 'Cause then I was thinking— we're already down Voltron.  If we're going to break, then isn't it better to do it earlier? Because we're already avoiding missions now.  The longer we go, the longer we have to wait to gave everyone back. Why wait five days and then wait two weeks, when we can just all wait two weeks?"   
  
"You're not going to break."   
  
Hunk turned and looked Shiro dead in the eyes.  "I am. I  _ am _ .  Maybe I could get through this morning.  But six more days?"   
  
Frowning, Shiro met his gaze and straightened up as well.  "You're stronger than you think, Hunk. More capable. I know you can-"   
  
"I can't!"  Hunk threw up his arms, so fast Shiro took a wary step back.  "I  _ can't. _  I cannot.  Because the stuff I'd usually use to calm down?  It's gone! I'm scared and I'm freaked out and I'm grossed out and I don't want to feel like this anymore.  The itching sucks, but I just want to cook!" By the end, he didn't sound furious anymore. He sounded close to tears.   
  
Shiro stared at Hunk, taking in the heavy breaths, the shaking hands, the red-rimmed eyes, the deep bags.   
  
The dread crystallized into resignation.   
  
"Why are you telling me this?"  Shiro asked. "You could just do it.  Why explain yourself to me?"   
  
Hunk paused then, dropping his hands again.  He swallowed hard and slumped against the counter.  "I don't know. I guess I want you to understand. I want..."   
  
Even as Hunk hesitated, Shiro steeled himself.  "You want permission."   
  
"Yeah."  Hunk looked at Shiro through his bangs, exhausted and hurt and scared.  "I want it to be okay. Is it okay?"   
  
No, it wasn't okay.  Three lions was less than four, and if Hunk gave up then Keith and Lance would be in more danger in an emergency.   
  
But that was going to happen.  Hunk was already decided. Why agonize him further over it?  He was clearly hurt enough.   
  
So Shiro reached out and squeezed Hunk's shoulder.  "It's okay. You've thought it out, and you know what you want.  You have my permission."   
  
Hunk's eyes went bright with unshed tears.  Pure relief.   
  
Shiro had made the wrong call for the universe.  He'd put the lions and Voltron in more danger.   
  
But he couldn't — wouldn't — take it back.   
  
"Thank you."  Hunk rubbed his palms together, not quite hard enough to actually scratch.  "I'm going to go to quarantine before I do it, so there's less risk of infection."   
  
"Go on, then.  I'll finish cleaning up."   
  
Hunk shot him a wobbly smile.  Then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms gently around Shiro, careful not to pop any bites.  "Seriously. Thank you." With that, he scampered off, still rubbing his hands together and probably jittering with nerves.   
  
Shiro watched him go, stomach falling to his feet.   
  
Then he sighed and got to work cleaning up the mess.   
  
***   
  
"Two paladins down in under one quintent," Allura murmured.  She tucked her legs under her and leaned back in her command chair, looking up at the projected view of their sector.  "I admit, that's faster than I would have hoped."   
  
Shiro's stomach rolled.  He watched her from the corner of his eye, looking for signs of temper.  If he noticed anything, but he'd have something constructive to do by talking her down and defending the others.  Instead, she just seemed resigned and nervous.   
  
That was exactly how Shiro felt as well.   
  
He tugged down the edge of his sleep shirt, despite the fact that no skin was showing.  It felt wrong to be in the command room without being fully dressed. Even just wearing his civilian clothing occasionally seemed inappropriate, though Shiro had mostly gotten past that.  Despite how long ago he'd graduated, part of him still expected one of the commanders to enter the room and be appalled at his lack of uniform.    
  
Even the slight shift of fabric brushed against the heated, swollen flesh of his back.  Shiro let go quickly, but not before an itch crawled up his spine. Hunk's words echoed in his head — it would all end with just one, quick scratch.   
  
Instead, Shiro folded his hands in his lap.   
  
"I should have spoken with Pidge earlier," he admitted.  "The rest of us spent part of the evening together in the rec room.  It helped, to have someone keeping an eye out. But she was distracting herself with an important project, and I didn't feel forcing her would help with anyone's mood.  If she'd had more support, it probably would have been easier for her to cope. And Pidge already being out was the reason Hunk let himself scratch as well."   
  
Allura hummed her understanding.  Her eyes didn't move from the screen.  The blue light it put off reflected harshly off her skin, casting the sides of her face into dark shadow. "I may have set up an impossible challenge for you all as well," she admitted.  "These bites have been described as torturous in our logs. If I had a cure or a better solution, I would offer it in an instant. But Voltron is critical to the universe. We felt it best to attempt to push through.  That may have been the wrong choice."   
  
Shaking his head, Shiro clenched and unclenched his fingers.  "No, I don't think so." His eyes drifted down and to the left, where the medical bay would be.  "It's certainly not enjoyable. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, Galra or otherwise. But the universe comes before our discomfort.  That's always been true."   
  
It was the thought he was holding onto. There was something bigger at stake.  This was important. Shiro had to push through. He'd survived worse, he could survive an itch.   
  
It helped.    
  
Allura nodded, though she didn't move from her slump.  A few months ago, that would have worried Shiro. But over time, during quiet, one-on-one moments, she'd started to relax her princess posture.  When they had these quiet planning moments, it was as equals. Even friendly. "You're right, but there's a point that too much focus on the larger goal becomes cruelty."  Her jaw clenched as she stared far beyond the screen in front of her.   
  
Perhaps she was thinking of Zarkon.  Perhaps she was thinking of her father, or someone from her planet Shiro had and would never hear of.   
  
"You haven't hit that point, yet," Shiro said.  He reached over his chair to gently nudge her shoulder, getting her attention.  "I'll warn you before you do. This isn't like those first training sessions, where we didn't know each other well.  I'll stand up for them. But this is just an itch. We'll be alright."   
  
Allura's expression softened.  "I suppose you're right."   
  
"What brought this on?"  A lot had happened in the past day, certainly, but Allura hadn't been this worried when they'd started.   
  
Lips pressing thin, Allura looked away.  She curled up a little tighter on herself.  "Simple reconsideration." But under Shiro's direct stare, she sighed.  "Hunk had quite a lot to say this morning. He found us right after Pidge admitted her itching had stopped.  It seems he didn't appreciate having that piece of information withheld."   
  
Ah.   
  
Another shudder ran through Shiro, powerful enough that he had to grind his teeth to keep from touching his own skin.  Even the barest brush would make it too tempting to dig in and relieve the suffering. "I understand his feelings. But I agree with that choice as well.  It's dangerous knowledge. An incentive to putting themselves in danger and exposing themselves to any diseases we might have brought on board."   
  
It was a brutal, unending, vicious temptation.  Shiro wished he could reach into his head and pluck out the memory.  Go back to his blissful ignorance, where he could convince himself that the momentary relief wasn't worth the consequences.   
  
He'd put too much stake in that mindset, and now it was hurting him.   
  
"That was Coran's feelings on the matter."  Allura looked to him, her expression soft. "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't be asking you to comfort me. Not when you're suffering."   
  
Shiro's brows rose.  "This is my job. It doesn't stop being so just because I have an itch."  His eyes roamed over her face, then softened. "And we're friends, I like to think.  It's not pleasant, but my suffering doesn't mean you can't speak about yours. Especially when you're asking me if I think the situation that we're living if sustainable."   
  
"Is it, though?"  Allura shook her head.  "Almost half the team down in one day.  I'm beginning to wonder if Hunk doesn't have a point.  Perhaps the best thing to do now is to begin the two week treatment for everyone and just find a safe place until then."   
  
"And let everyone who needs Voltron wait?"  Shiro shook his head and leaned back harder in his chair.  The bug bites protested viciously. "Even one lion is better than none.  All five of us would be best, but if we can't do that, then we can do something.  Keith, Lance, and I can handle small fleets with just our lions. If it gets too much, we'll retreat for now.  But at least we have the option."   
  
Allura took a deep breath, then let it out.  "You're right. And you're back to comforting me on my decisions."   
  
"Your decisions are still right, so of course I am."   
  
Finally, Allura smiled, though it was small.  "Thank you, Shiro. We got very lucky when the five of you revived us, but especially with you."   
  
Considering how bad the last Black Paladin had gone, that was faint praise.  But it wasn't meant to be, so Shiro smiled, honestly warmed. "Thank you as well.  You are so much more than we could have ever expected. You should put more faith in your command.  You've done well by us so far."   
  
Allura tutted at him, but there was a happy shine to her eyes.  "Alright, enough flattery. We gain nothing by trying to predict emergencies over the next week.  Let me know if there's anything we can do to make the next movement more comfortable for you."   
  
Shiro opened his mouth, then closed it.  He doubted that Allura would appreciate him asking her to skin him alive, no matter how friendly they'd become.  "I will. Thank you, Princess."   
  
"Thank you as well, Shiro."   
  
Dismissed, Shiro pushed himself up.  He gripped the armrest hard and pretended it was blood rush, and not another desperate urge to scratch.  Then, with a last deep nod of his head, Shiro slipped out the door.   
  
Originally, his feet took him toward the training room.  It was habit to head there when he had nothing else to do.  But that was still a sure-fire way to burst some bites, so Shiro turned on his heel and started in the other direction.   
  
He ended up at Keith's door.   
  
After a few knocks, Keith opened it.  "Oh, hey. Done talking with Allura?"   
  
"There was only so much to say," Shiro admitted, leaning carefully against the door frame.  His legs tensed, full of the desire to rub himself against the metal like a bear with a tree.  "We're staying the course and hoping for the best."   
  
"Same as ever, then."  Keith stepped back so Shiro could come in, then closed the door behind him.  He sat down hard at the front of bed, half on top of his pillow, so Shiro could sit as well.  As he stretched out, he locked his knees and pushed his legs out as far as he could like a cat.  His toes spread wide, and he held that tension for a long second, then went limp.   
  
Shiro sat down and watched him, bemused.  "I would really like to know if that's a Galra thing, or just a Keith thing."   
  
"Story of my life, it turns out."  Keith folded his hands over his stomach, then flinched and put them down on the bed instead.  "You okay?"   
  
Apparently Shiro looked stressed, then.  Making a face, Shiro leaned against the wall, despite the way his shoulder bites screamed in protest.  "Yes." At Keith's bland look, he rolled his eyes. "I will be. Hunk made some logical points to justify giving in.  I don't blame him for it, but I'm trying not to think too hard and let myself be convinced."   
  
"Ah."  Keith nodded, accepting that.  Easy as that. "You know what I didn't know I'd miss?  Shoes. I miss my boots." He spread his toes again, watching them closely.   
  
"I'm not fond of being barefoot either.  I wish there were slippers other than the Black Lion ones."  Not only were they far too nice to chance getting dirty via burst bug bites, but they were a touch too cartoonish.  Shiro liked slippers in general, and if he had more he'd wear them around the more lived-in sections of the castle. But wearing a pair that looked like a lion was a little too much for his self-image.   
  
Keith shrugged one shoulder.  "We really should have more clothes than we do," he said.  "If nothing else, different outfits for different weather. I have my jacket, and so does Lance, but no one else has layers."   
  
"We wear our armor onto planets, and the castle has a constant environment."   
  
"It's the principle of the thing.  Preparedness. The castle is old and it breaks sometimes.  What if the environmental controls go next?"   
  
Shiro looked up at the ceiling.  "We'll all die, frozen in space. But we'll fall asleep first, so that's not so bad."   
  
Turning his head over, Keith scowled at him, but it had no heat.  "Don't say that shit when I can't hit you for it."   
  
"Then it's the perfect time to say it."  Shiro shot him a smile, which only grew at Keith's huff.   
  
Neither of them meant it.  It was just a distracting line of conversation.  That was what Keith did, when Shiro was just a hair too stressed.  He came here, and Keith spared with him, or played a game with him.  And, in worst case scenarios like this, Keith would talk. For hours if need be, despite his natural inclination toward silence.   
  
Shiro was deeply, unending grateful for it.  Especially on days like this, when Keith had enough to worry about.  They all did. But Shiro desperately needed a little while to clear his head from Hunk's words, or else he was going to be quarantine resident number three.   
  
"Why do you wear your shoes so much, anyway?"  Shiro asked, nudging his foot against Keith's ankle.  That was safe, since neither of them had bites that far down.  "You always used to wear your shoes in your dorm. I never understood why."   
  
Keith considered.  "I don't know. I just never took them off that much.  Besides, I grew up in the dessert. If you don't have something on your feet, you're going to burn them.  That's not counting all the animals that live in the desert. Bare feet around scorpions sounds like a terrible idea."   
  
Shuddering, Shiro wrinkled up his nose.  "Okay, that's a fair point. I didn't think about that."   
  
"Why do you take them off, then?"   
  
"They're dirty.  You walk around all day in them.  Why would you want that in your room?  Especially on your bed." Shiro shot Keith a pointed look.   
  
Keith made a gesture like he was going to throw his pillow at Shiro, though he didn't follow through.  "That was just a few times. I was tired and I didn't feel like taking off my shoes. It's not the most important thing in the world."   
  
All Shiro did was raise a brow.   
  
"It's not!"   
  
Finally, Shiro cracked a smile and nodded.  "Alright, I understand. I don't agree, but I understand."  He rolled his shoulders, trying for comfort that only made his skin burn worse.  Instead, he started to work his right hand, opening and closing the fingers in the same way Keith had been stretching his toes before.  It didn't help the itching, but at least it was an outlet for the excess energy.   
  
Keith watched, his expression falling.  He opened his mouth, then paused. Shut it.  Tried again, but still no words. "I don't know what to talk about."   
  
A laugh startled out of Shiro, though it was flat.  "I know, small talk isn't your strong suit. Sorry. I'm not being helpful either."   
  
"Don't apologize.  At least you came here to distract yourself rather than working yourself into circles."  Keith turned over onto his side, facing Shiro. "I just wish I was better at this."   
  
"You're plenty good enough.  Better than you think. I came here for a reason, you know."   
  
Keith raised a brow.  "Because you wouldn't dare look less than perfect in front of the others, especially Allura and Coran?"   
  
Direct hit.  Shiro swallowed hard and clenched his right hand as hard as he could.  The knuckles should have looked white from the pressure, but they stayed the same, uniform steel gray.  "Well, yes. But also because you're you. I can be honest in front of you. So thank you."   
  
Keith swallowed hard, his eyes on Shiro's right wrist.  Right where he used to wear the cuffs. "Well, good. You need someone."   
  
"And you're a very good choice."   
  
Rolling over the other direction, Keith pulled the pillow in closer like he wanted to hide under it.  "Enough flattery, already."   
  
Shiro smirked and leaned over, so he hovered over Keith's head.  "It's not flattery. I trust and care about you." He drew out the last word, gently nudging Keith on the shoulder.  "You're my friend and I value your company. You're just going to have to live with that."   
  
"Stop."  This time, Keith really did smack him with the pillow, far more gently than he normally would.  But he turned to face Shiro again, expression soft. "I owe you help anyway. I owe you everything."   
  
Expression softening, Shiro shook his head.  "You really don't. I did all that because I wanted to.  You don't owe me anything for basic kindness."   
  
"Yes, I do."  Keith pushed himself up onto his elbows.  "Starting with distracting you now. What's it like to fly the Black Lion?"   
  
Shiro froze, surprised by the question.  By now he should be used to Keith's sudden, blunt changes of topic, but he never quite adapted.  The question in particular was odd, since Keith had been in Black before, but that hadn't been in the air, and only for a moment. "Big.  Powerful. Exhausting. Humbling. It's like playing a game of chess and lifting weights at the same time. But interesting in a way I don't know anything else has been.  Training for the Kerberos mission came closest, maybe. What about you? What's the Red Lion like?"   
  
"Different from that.  Really different." Keith's eyes drifted to the right, where the Red Lion's hangar was.  "Bolstering. Freeing. Exhilarating. Sometimes, slowing down for everyone else feels like being stuck in behind a car going ten below the speed limit."   
  
Ouch.  Shiro winced.  "That explains a lot, actually.  No wonder you shoot off so quickly when you have a task.  I'd be just as antsy."   
  
Keith snorted.  "Yeah, I've seen you road rage before."   
  
"Bite me."   
  
Laughing, Keith smiled at him.  "You should give it a try sometime.  Flying Red. You taught me how to really fly, so I bet they'd take you too."   
  
How much was that even possible?  Allura had seemed so sure which of them matched to witch, and then she'd been right.  As long as one paladin remained, would the lions allow others to fly them outside of emergencies?  "It'd be interesting to experience," Shiro admitted. He could definitely see the appeal of Red's streamlined speed.  He'd love to see what the top speed of the fastest lion was. "If I do that, you should try to Black Lion again."   
  
Keith snorted.  Loudly.    
  
"I'm serious!  I had the same problems you did when I was in training.  If I worked through it, I know you can do the same." Shiro picked up the discarded pillow and dropped it on Keith's chest.  "No harm if it doesn't work. But if it goes one way, it should go the other."   
  
"Doubt it."  Keith closed his eyes like he was blocking Shiro out.  "It's not superficial patterns. It's personality. I'm not like that.  It only worked because I was saving you. Not because I'm like you."   
  
Shiro was so damn sure that Keith could be.  But one look at that closed off face convinced him not to push now.  "It'd help you understand the other side, at least. And if it's not patterns, Red won't work for me either."   
  
"Then Red won't work for you."   
  
That wasn't true, but the last time he'd pushed with Keith, it had resulted in a fight.  Given their circumstances, that wasn't a good idea right now. Shiro flopped down on the bed and sighed.  Let Keith be stubborn, then. Shiro could wait for a better chance to talk. They had time, still.   
  
Silence stretched.  "Better?" Keith asked.   
  
Shiro cracked open one eye.  "Still itching. I hate this."  Then he took a deep breath. "But yeah.  Back to baseline. I can handle this. Thank you again, Keith."   
  
"No problem."  Keith stared up at the ceiling.  "Want to do another round of trivia?"   
  
"Not when we can't spar to end fights."  Shiro sat up suddenly. "But what do you want to bet that there's an Altean trivia game on the castle somewhere.  They have that strange language program, so I bet it exists."   
  
Keith looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "We won't know the answers."   
  
"So we're evenly matched."   
  
"It's a game of chance."  Despite his complaints, Keith looked intrigued.  "What does the winner get?"   
  
Shiro considered.  Their options were limited at the moment.  "Loser has to do one of the winner's Coran-assigned chores."   
  
Fire lit behind Keith's eyes.  He grinned, showing far too many teeth.  "You're on."   
  
They shook on it.   
  
It hurt, but they managed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot to upload this yesterday?

Keith paced the rec room like a caged animal.   
  
He circled the length of the room, head down and arms stiff at his side.  Occasionally his fingers would twitch, as if a physical force was trying to force them to curl, but he fought it off.  Each time, his jaw seemed to tense tighter and his steps quickened.   
  
Shiro watched him go from his place on the couch.  Frankly, the display was starting to make him dizzy. But Keith had always had too much energy for his own good.  Cooping him inside the Castle of Lions for so long with nothing physical to do just made him antsy.   
  
In the couple of days since Hunk had voluntarily entered quarantine, they'd all managed to hold off joining him and Pidge.  But the longer the itching went on, the longer everyone's patience started to fray.   
  
So far, Shiro thought they'd held up pretty well.  But cracks were definitely starting to develop.    
  
"This is useless," Keith said, for probably the fourth time that afternoon.  "Maybe we don't have Voltron, but there has to be something we can do, right?  Something small. There have to be dozens of active distress signals. Pick the one with the least Galra ships or whatever and let's go."   
  
"I'm sure Allura and Coran are monitoring that."   
  
"Are you?"  Keith whirled on him, eyes narrowed.  "Do we really know what they're up to?"   
  
It wasn't a serious question, so Shiro just raised an eyebrow.  "Since I generally take part in those discussions? Yes, I'm fairly certain."   
  
Keith's jaw worked, biting back more cutting remarks.  He resumed his stalking perimeter, just as tense as before.  "I'm just saying, we're supposed to be in charge of the greatest weapon in the universe.  But we were all taken down by a few dumb bugs and a flaw in the suits. Should we really be stopping out of nowhere like this?"   
  
Biting back a sigh, Shiro leaned back on the couch.  The fabric rubbed through the silken fabric of his shirt, and he had to still against the urge to roll his shoulders against the firm pressure.     
  
Keith knew all the arguments why they couldn't go into the field at the moment.  With only three lions, they easily ran the risk of getting in over their heads, without Voltron as a trump card.  All too often, they ended up on any given planet or section of space, only for Haggar to track them and send along one of her monsters.  Right now, they would have trouble with a normal Galra fleet, much less whatever twisted creature that Haggar would throw at them.   
  
Even outside of that, Shiro was distracted.  Just holding the controls would be a test. Using too tight a hold would either hurt or cause the bites to burst, and all of them kept randomly jerking and twitching as the urge to scratch grew ever stronger.  None of that created a good flight scenario.   
  
Keith was well aware of all of that. But he had none of his usual coping techniques, nothing to distract himself, and a terrible case of cabin fever.   
  
After how Keith had walked Shiro through his own mini crisis, he wanted to return the favor.  But Shiro hadn't figured out the right thing to say to help him out.   
  
"We're sick," Shiro finally said.  "We're allowed sick leave just like any other being.  Once we're better, we'll be back at it, and not before we can get ourselves killed.  But there are other things we can be doing."   
  
"If you recommend one more video or quiz, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions."   
  
Shiro took a deep breath, less out of frustration and more an instinctive dislike for Keith's sharp tone.  He'd gotten more than enough of it, once upon a time, and he didn't like feeling like their friendship was regressing. "The bites end at the knees," Shiro said.  "So we could try to run laps. Or we could manage a light game of football — soccer."   
  
"I know what you mean."  Despite his tone, Keith visibly perked up.  "You think that would work?"   
  
"Better than sparring," Shiro said, shrugging one shoulder.  "And we'd have to be in agreement not to touch the ball anywhere but our feet or shins.  Which means being careful not to kick too hard and hit each other in the chest or shoulders.  But it's theoretically possible."   
  
Keith's expression worked.  He seemed torn between frustration at having to hold himself back when he was already so frustrated, and the promise of any kind of relief.  "Maybe target practice instead? Try to aim for specific spots on the wall. That way we can actually hit-"   
  
The door opened, and Lance slid into the room.  For a moment, he looked hesitant, but the expression was gone so fast that it was hard to be sure.  "Hey there," he greeted, arms spread wide. He sat down lengthwise on the couch, his feet just barely stopping short of Shiro's lap.  "I'm bored. What are you guys up to?"   
  
Immediately, Keith's slowly relaxing expression snapped to a snarl.  "None of your business."   
  
Oh, no.   
  
Lance drew himself up, immediately offended.  "Why not? What are you guys doing that's so secret?"  He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Are you breaking?  I knew you’d scratch first!"   
  
"No, I'm not."  Keith's hands clenched at his side, only to snap back open as he realized what he was doing.  Shiro looked carefully, but he didn't see any blood from a burst bite. "It's none of your business because no one invited you."   
  
"Then you shouldn't have made plans in the room we all use!"   
  
"Enough," Shiro sighed, closing his eyes.  He wanted desperately to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he didn't dare.  Not when his face already itched so bad. Touching would only fuel the fire.  "Keith, it's fine. Lance, we were just trying to think of a way to pass the time.  We were trying to figure out if there was a way to play football."   
  
Keith shot him a betrayed look for spilling, which Shiro ignored.  He understood that Keith's patience was already frayed, and dealing with Lance's tendency to prod would be just another source of stress on top of that.  But that tone was only going to make Lance dig in his heels and get more aggressive in response. Besides, they were a team. They might clash, but Shiro would really appreciate it if they at least made an attempt to get along.   
  
"You were going to play without Lancey Lance?  The star player?" Lance raised his leg almost 90 degrees into the air, gesturing to his foot.  The baggy, silken leg of his sleep pants slid down past his knee, making him shiver and jolt uncomfortably.  "Afraid I'd show you up?"   
  
"Didn't your last kick nearly get us killed?"   
  
"No!  It just missed.  How many times have you missed, Hot Shot?"   
  
Keith raised an eyebrow.  "How many times have you hit?"   
  
Lance snapped his legs over the side of the couch and stood up, visibly stung.  "How many chances have I had?" He asked, cheeks flushed with anger. There was an element of genuine hurt to his voice, one that set off warning bells in Shiro's head.   
  
But before he could figure out something to say to disrupt the conversation, Keith snorted loudly.  He looked Lance over from head to foot. "How many have you deserved?"   
  
The color to Lance's cheeks deepened.  He started to stalk around the couch, but Shiro caught his wrist before he could escalate the fight.   
  
"Both of you stop.  Right now."   
  
The command tone, barely more than a rumble, worked.  Lance stilled, and Keith went still. His heavy breathing was still audible, and there was so much tension in Lance's wrists that it seemed like the muscle would snap.   
  
Shiro stood as well, carefully interrupting their path to each other.  "We're all in bad moods right now. But fighting is only going to make this ship feel smaller and make us more liable to take rash actions.  Both of you stand down."   
  
Lance yanked his hand back.  Shiro let go immediately, not wanting to struggle and possibly burst any of Lance's bites.  "Tell that to him. I just came in and Keith was already at my throat."   
  
"Oh, do you not like that?"  Keith snorted and crossed his arms, physically turning away from Lance.  "It must suck to constantly having someone insulting you and getting in your face for no reason.  People like that must suck to be around."   
  
Lance started to respond, but hesitated.  His gaze flickered, falling onto the floor.   
  
When there was no response, Keith let out a growl.  Despite not being able to see his face, Shiro knew he would have the same, grit-teeth look as when he used to take a swing at other cadets.  "I'll be in the training room," he snapped out. "Stay out, Lance. Shiro, you do whatever you want." With that, he stalked out.   
  
It was on the tip of Shiro's tongue to call after and remind Keith not to spar.  But he knew that perfectly well, and fussing over him like that was only going to make his temper worse.  So Shiro watched him go, stomach heavy, and wished he was half as good at helping Keith as Keith was for him.   
  
Meanwhile, Lance stepped back from Shiro, jaw set.  "How do you put up with him? He's the worst."   
  
"He's my closest friend," Shiro reminded wearily.  "Please don't."   
  
Lance stiffened, but then nodded.  "I didn't do anything," he insisted. "I just came in and he snapped at me."   
  
In this particular case, yes.  "I know you didn't," Shiro agreed.  "It's a frustrating time for all of us.  You had bad timing."   
  
"I always have bad timing with him."  Lance sighed and brushed his hair back, finally looking up.  "Kinda answers my question, though. I figured it was a bad idea to come to you guys."   
  
Shiro's stomach twisted. He very carefully reached out and put his hand on Lance's shoulder.  "It wasn't. It went badly, but if you need help, you should feel comfortable coming to anyone on the team.  We're here to support each other."   
  
At first, Lance just stared up at him, expression too controlled to glean anything.  Then he shook his head and scoffed. "Nah, nah, nothing like that. You kidding me? I mean, I won't pretend I like this bug stuff, but it's fine.  I'm fine. I'm stronger than that." He raised one arm and flexed, shooting Shiro a grin. "I got this under control. I was just bored. I tried talking to Hunk and Pidge, but it's boring when I can't be in a room with them and they keep talking about their tech stuff."   
  
"We're all struggling a little with this," Shiro said carefully, looking over Lance's face.  "It's okay if you just need a distraction. We've all been there."   
  
Lance waved a hand.  "Nope. I'm all good.  Maybe Keith is feeling the strain, but I'm made of tougher stuff."  He raised his chin up tight and set his shoulders, meeting Shiro's gaze directly.  "You should probably be having this little chat with him before he does something reckless.  He's the hot head, not me."   
  
Biting back a sigh, Shiro closed his eyes.  "I'm perfectly capable of asking after and helping both of you," he replied, just slightly tighter than normal.   
  
"Well I don't need it.  And if Keith's going to be in such a mood, then I don't want to hang around anyway.  I'm bored, not masochistic." Lance shrugged easily. "But speaking of looking in on people, Pidge and Hunk are pretty bored too.  They said you were only by once."   
  
Right.  Shiro's stomach turned, both with guilt and unease.  Seeing the both of them, isolated but unbothered by their bodies, reminded Shiro how easy the solution was.  He'd managed about five awkward minutes over the intercom between the hall and the safe room before he needed to bow out.  They were fine, if just as pent up as the rest of them. But at least they could play video games or tinker in peace — Coran had moved one of the work tables and the Flux system in with them, since no one else could use them.   
  
They were fine.  They didn't need Shiro there yet.  He would soon.   
  
"I'll stop by later," Shiro assured.   
  
Lance nodded.  "Good. In the meantime, make sure Mullet doesn't put us down a third lion.  Or, hey, let him. I win the bet."   
  
It would be so much easier if Lance could just let these competitions go.  Shiro had no idea what to do about them. They at least motivated Lance to keep up with training even when it was boring, and usually Keith could ignore them without more than a couple of comments.  Shiro had hoped the unity of being on a team together would smooth out these fights. They usually seemed less vicious, but once in a while it got nastier than before.   
  
Shiro would figure out a solution that wouldn't piss them both off one day.  Until then, they managed.   
  
"Alright," Shiro finally said.  He suspected Lance was fronting, but there was no proof of that.  Besides, he had his pride, and Shiro was't going to dash that. Even if he was willing to, he wasn't going to force help on someone who clearly wasn't interested in accepting it.  "But feel free to intercom me if you need someone around, alright?"   
  
"Will do, Bossman."  Lance tossed out a lazy, crooked salute, then grinned when Shiro winced.  "I'll find something to pass the time. Bet I could make a deck of cards or something.  We can hang later." He turned on his heel and started for the door.   
  
There should have been something to say.  Some magic word that would help Lance, make them both honest, strengthen the team.   
  
But instead Shiro just nodded and watched him go.  No response came to mind, so he just stared at the door as it closed.   
  
Swallowing hard, Shiro steadied himself.  Then he stepped out as well, turning to head to the training room.   
  
He'd handle Keith first.  He was in the most danger in the next hour.  Then Shiro would figure out how to handle the rest, if he even could.   
  
*   
  
It turned out, solitaire was just one more thing that Lance couldn't concentrate on.   
  
He sprawled out in the middle of his room, back against the cool metal in the hopes of soothing the itch and the burning.  It didn't help, and just created an awful tingle, like running his hands under warm water after being out in the cold. The remains of his cards were scattered around him.   Because he'd given up on the third failed game, tired of flipping the cards over again and again as he tried to think through the constant itching. Then he threw them all at the wall, not caring that he'd probably ripped or crinkled them.   
  
Lance was bored.  He was annoyed at how little there was to do, tired of wasting minute after slow minute, and thoroughly sick of each and every burning bite.  There was one in particular just under his ribs that moved every time Lance breathed. The expansion of his chest made it throb anew. He wanted so badly to dig his nails in and scratch the stupid thing.   
  
But that would be losing, wouldn't it?   
  
Lance turned over onto his stomach, which made his front scream in protest and his back throb.  This side was worse, but moving again would just hurt more, so he stayed. Instead he glared down at the floor.   
  
He was going to hold out.  He was going to make it the week.  He was going to show he had the patience and drive.  He was going to prove to Allura and Coran and Shiro that he was the best.   
  
It would be so much easier if he wasn't so bored.   
  
The list of things that Lance had tried and given up on were: Video games.  Movies. Documentaries. Coran's stories. Reading reports. Reading books. Looking at pictures.  Playing with the hologram star charts. Playing with the hologram room. Doing laps. Target practice. Chores.  And now card games.   
  
It was at the point that Lance was kind of hoping the Galra found them.  Maybe if he was super focused on not dying he could think about anything but the itching.   
  
The worst part — the actual, literal, most unbearable part — was that the bites crawled up his neck and onto his jaw.  Lance hated those spots more than the rest combined, even the one that hurt when he breathed. Not only were they just as itchy and swollen as the rest, but Lance saw them anytime he so much caught sight of his own reflection.  They sat like lumps under his skin, making his jaw look uneven and blotchy.    
  
It made it impossible for Lance to do his face routine, too.  He had a ritual he used every night - face scrub, moisturizer, brush teeth, listening to music, bed time.  Those stupid bites interrupted parts one and two, which made it feel like it wasn't bed time. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable when his body would jerk randomly, or an itch would get so bad he had to grab the sheets to keep from itching.   
  
On nearly day four, Lance was so tired.  He just wanted to feel normal and sleep like a regular human.   
  
Picking up one of the cards, Lance stared up at it blandly.  It didn't look as nice as the ones back on Earth - there was no pattern on the back, and it just said the number and suite on the corners.  Lance wasn't really a designer, so he hadn't bothered. So they looked ugly, and they couldn't even keep his attention the way they were supposed to.   
  
Lance bared his teeth at the card and ripped it in half, and then in quarters, then in every small pieces of paper until he couldn't get a grip anymore.  Then he tossed the card confetti into the air and let it rain down on him.   
  
It had been a dumb idea anyway.   
  
When he dropped his arms, his elbows hit the ground first.  It pressed down just right to hit one of the bites. His whole body seized up like an electric current was running through him as pain shot up his arm and back.  As fast as it ran through him, it was replaced but a burning instinct to touch the spot, to run his nails over it.   
  
It reminded him of the first afternoon, when he'd thrown himself onto the couch too hard and nearly scratched right there.  Shiro's fast grip hadn't physically stopped him, but it had been a firm reminder not to give into his body's demand. Now, Lance didn't have that support.  He was alone, and he had to lock himself up to keep from breaking.   
  
By the time the impulse ended, Lance was breathing hard and his eyes prickled.   
  
He hated this.  He hated this so much.   
  
Maybe it would be easier if he had someone around.  The first day had sucked because he didn't really know how bad it was going to get, but it had been easier with Hunk around.  They could talk and joke and hang out, even if they couldn't do their usual fun stuff. But then Hunk had talked himself into scratching without even telling Lance he was going to do it and left Lance all alone.   
  
With Pidge already out, that left Keith, Shiro, Allura and Coran.   
  
Allura was out from the word go.  There was no way Lance was going to hang around her now, while he had these ugly swollen lumps all over and he was twitching all the time.  She was never going to want anything to do with him if she saw him like this. Coran had been a decent choice, because he at least knew that chores were out of the question.  But his other options was to tell all kinds of stories, which was cool until he was rambling on about people Lance would never know and terms that didn't translate. It was a wave of alien nonsense words that did nothing to distract Lance.   
  
Shiro would be fine, if Lance could ever get to him without freakin Keith around.  Yeah, they were friends or whatever, but Keith was being an even bigger pain than usual.  What was he even getting so mad about, anyway? Yeah, Lance teased, but that was their thing.  They were rivals. Lance trash talked and it wasn't like he didn't say anything that wasn't true, right?   
  
Maybe he could lay off for a while, but it was hard.  Lance liked to think he was good at a lot of things, but Keith stomped all over that at the worst times.  So Lance was trying to get his own back, but Keith was friends with their leader so that made Lance the bad guy.   
  
Unfair.   
  
"Who needs 'em?" Lance said to the floor.  "I'm good all on my own. Lance the Tough, right?  I can take it. A couple of bugs can't stop me."   
  
The ringing silence of his room was the only answer.   
  
Yeah, that was a little depressing.   
  
"Exactly,” Lance answered, just to fill the empty air.  He pushed himself up and brushed his hair back into place.  His eyes roamed over the empty space where the video game console usually lived (Pidge and Hunk could actually use it right now), and then over to his bed.   
  
That was what he needed.  A few hours to sleep. It would be that much closer to being over, and Lance wouldn't feel so run down.   
  
It wasn't bed time, true, and he was the achy, frustrated kind of tired that didn't translate into falling asleep quickly.  He was just cranky and frustrated, not drooping in place. Besides, the last few nights had been new forms of torture.   
  
...Because he hadn't tried his routine.   
  
Lance's eyes tracked to the bag of supplies on his shelf.   
  
It was a terrible idea.  But as long as he avoided that part of his face, it was fine.  Even if he didn't get every inch, at least he would have gone through the motions. Then he'd curl up with his blanket, put on the mittens, and snooze away part of this whole stupid week.   
  
Easy.  He could do that.  No problem.   
  
Snatching up his bag, Lance half-stormed his way through the hall, chest puffed out.  His display was unnoticed — no one was around to see. Shiro and Keith were probably off having fun playing games together, and Hunk and Pidge were definitely enjoying each other's company.  Allura and Coran slept in a different part of the castle, and even so they were close too.   
  
Which left no one around for Lance.   
  
Not that he needed it.  He was too tough for that.   
  
Ignoring the twinge in his chest — if he didn't make remarks, maybe he could go play football too — Lance stepped into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.   
  
He was a mess.  His hair was ruffled, his cheeks were flushed with temper, and there were heavy bags under his eyes.  That wasn't even touching the ugly, gross bug bites making a creeping line up his neck. Lance stuck out his tongue in the mirror.  Yeah, he definitely needed a good scrub and some sleep.    
  
Pulling out his specially created wipes (thank you, Hunk), Lance squirted a decent sized glob into the middle and rubbed it together to spread it out.  Then he started to dab all over his face, making sure everywhere had some, before he started to rub.   
  
It felt amazing.  Or, okay, it hurt a little, but in a satisfying way.  After so long of not giving his face a proper washing, it felt amazing to get back onto his normal schedule.  Already, he could feel himself relaxing.   
  
It also felt good to rub at a part of his body that wasn't dangerous.  Even if he couldn't scratch the parts of him that really wanted it, after so long holding himself still, it was satisfying to really dig at something.  Especially around the bottom of his cheeks. It was so close to the danger area, but not quite touching. Just enough to convince his brain that he was having an effect.   
  
Lance closed his eyes and gave into the feeling, like a dog leaning into his ears being rubbed.  It was so relieving that he kept it up far longer than he should have. Just rubbing in circles, dipping down a little further, enough to chase that sensation.  It made the rest of him feel better too, like all of him had stopped itching.   
  
Wait.   
  
Lance's eyes snapped open, heart stopping.   
  
A trickle of blood ran down his jaw and neck.   
  
"No," Lance breathed, horrified.  He yanked his hands away. The nails of his right hand had just a hint of red below the tips, and the prints were stained.  "Oh, no. No, nuh-uh, no."   
  
But the evidence was clear.  Not only was there the blood, but Lance's whole body had stopped itching.  It occurred to him, in a rush that nearly toppled him over, that neither Pidge nor Hunk had scratched at all when Lanced talked to them.   
  
"No!"  He let out, louder than before.  He threw his whole bag into the sink and turned away from the mirror, hands clenched hard.   
  
This was going to be it.  He was going to prove how strong and capable he was.  Win at once thing. Be better.   
  
And instead he'd ruined it all.   
  
Maybe he could hide it?  Maybe no one needed to know.  He could just wash it up and put on a little moisturizer and see if maybe no one noticed-   
  
Until he got sick.  Enough to kill him.   
  
It wasn't worth it.   
  
Groaning, Lance turned back to wash his face.  Once he was no longer covered in facial scrub, he glared at himself in the mirror, then turned to face the music.   
  
He needed to find Shiro.  Which probably meant finding Keith too.   
  
Great.   
  
*   
  
Lance shifted from foot to foot, eyes on Shiro's forehead rather than properly meeting his gaze.  "Really, I don't think I even actually touched it. It probably just burst on its own. It was on a weird spot on my jaw, you know?   It probably kept getting moved whenever I talked or anything. So that's why, I think." He was clearly trying to keep his voice even, but there was a shake just below the surface.   
  
Biting back a sigh, Shiro nodded and kept his gaze on Coran, who was suiting up for activating the side chamber for quarantine.  "That makes sense," he said neutrally, only sparing Lance a glance.   
  
"Good.  So long as you get it.  I want to be on the level with you."  There was a pause. "Because I really could have done it otherwise.  I was fine, you know?"   
  
"I understand."   
  
"Cool.  Great. So long as you know that."   
  
Another pause.   
  
Lance rocked again, his hands clenching and releasing at his side, careful to avoid popping more of the bites.  Now that one had burst, the others would fade quickly. Already, Pidge was bite free, and Hunk was nearly there.  But that didn't mean any of them could come out of quarantine until their immune systems were back up to par.   
  
It was obvious that Lance needed reassurance.  On a better day, Shiro would know what would make him calm down.  He had the deepest doubts that it was really a spontaneous burst, but it was possible. Shiro was willing to give Lance the benefit of the doubt.  Or, at least, he didn't openly disagree.   
  
But more than that just took too much effort right now.  The lack of twitching or physical discomfort that Lance showed spoke volumes.  He was clearly already feeling better. The same applied to Pidge and Hunk, who were crowded together in the window to the quarantine room, watching with open sympathy and curiosity.   
  
Their lack of itch just drove home how much Shiro felt the symptoms.   
  
It was just itching.  It was just a little burn.  It would have been mild if Shiro was in the field, or if he had something else to focus on.  Instead, the constant ache and nagging of his skin made it impossible to forget. It highlighted each individual inch of his body, in a way that reminded him of just after his diagnosis.  When every twitch or ache or movement of his body had been up to constant scrutiny.   
  
Thinking about that made Shiro's arm ache, echoing the remembered, unasked for twitch of muscle.   
  
The more Shiro saw of their relief, the more he thought of his own lack, which made him hyperaware, which made him remember the itch, which made him want their relief.  The cycle wasn't any of their faults, but the longer Shiro stood here, the more ice crept up his spine.   
  
"It's fine," Shiro finally said, making himself meet Lance's eyes.  "Keith and I can hold down the fort for a couple more days. You focus on staying healthy, alright?"   
  
That only made Lance look more upset.  "I could have done that," he insisted, louder now.  So much so that Coran looked over, curious at the commotion.   
  
Shiro's brows rose.  "I know you could. You've been doing that with us for more than half a week."   
  
Jaw set, Lance nodded.  "Yeah, I have." He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.  "What happens when — if Keith goes next?"   
  
For a moment, Shiro looked over his face, looking for a barbed insult.  That was the kind of backhanded comment Lance liked to give to rile Keith up, even though he wasn't here.  But while Lance didn't exactly look charitable, he seemed more curious. "Exactly what's been happening so far, I imagine.  He goes in with you three, and I hope that you'll respect that everyone will need to share the small space and you'll all make an effort to get along."   
  
Lance's lips pressed thin, like he was torn.  "Yeah, alright," he finally said. "But what about you, I mean?  Three was pretty bad, lions wise. Two is really bad. But if it's one, you'll be alone."   
  
"Or Keith will be alone."   
  
Snorting, Lance flapped a hand.  "Yeah, sure, whatever. I saw him climbing the walls earlier.  He's next."   
  
It wasn't worth the argument, but Shiro highly doubted that. His struggles were mostly internal, so Lance would have no reason to think it was Shiro who had needed help and Keith who was supporting.  As much as he wanted to defend his friend, Keith wouldn't give a damn about Lance's bet on who would go next, and Shiro didn't want to advertise his own issues anyway.   
  
"One lion is better than being undefended," Shiro said, gesturing vaguely upward, as if he could indicate the entire castle.  "It's not about responding to emergency messages anymore. Unless it's a very contained issue, I don't think we'll be responding to anyone."  That grated. Shiro hated that. All of this was supposed to be about helping people, and despite all the gains they'd made, he was left useless on the whims of some bug bites.  But it was better to sit out for two or three more days rather than risk losing lions and permanently ending Voltron.   
  
Lance nodded and spread his arms widely.  "Exactly! You guys shouldn't be fighting like that.  So you come in and hang out for a couple of weeks with all of us.  Why not?"   
  
Well, Shiro could think of a couple of reasons he personally didn't want to be stuck in a small-ish room with four other people.   
  
But what he said was, "and what if the castle is attacked?"   
  
Lance's eyes went wide.  "Oh, right. But we're hiding out anyway, right?  A Galra force against one lion is asking for trouble."   
  
"Yes, but the Galra have tracked us before.  It wouldn't be about winning the fight. It would be about disrupting the force enough to wormhole away safely."  Shiro shook his head. "Any defense is better than making the Castle of Lions a sitting duck. If it means itching for another day, I or Keith will survive, I'm sure."   
  
Nose wrinkled, Lance reluctantly nodded.  "Alright. I mean, it's probably smarter for us to just find an uninhabited planet and hang out for two weeks, but sure, I gotcha."  He looked over at Coran, who was already opening up the side chamber. "But you're definitely going to visit, yeah? You said so."   
  
"Of course," Shiro said evenly, although his stomach twisted.  "I'm sure I can find something to help keep you occupied for two weeks."   
  
Lance groaned loudly, but he was smiling as he did it.  His shoulders fell more loosely, losing part of that defensive curl.   
  
Even with his obvious nerves, Lance looked more at peace than he had since the stupid bug bites had started to itch.   
  
Shiro's fingers jerked, and one particular bite on his neck felt suddenly huge.  When he tried to ignore that one, his attention caught another on the back of his palm, and one on his ribs, until each of them was individually clamoring against his mind.   
  
It hurt.   
  
But he'd hurt worse before, so he smiled back, even if it was strained.   
  
Lance's eyes narrowed, picking up something from Shiro's expression.   
  
"Alright, Lance," Coran called cheerfully.  "Are you ready for the disinfectant?"   
  
"It stings," Hunk warned seriously, muffled by the glass window.  "Like, a lot. Just so you know."   
  
Coran huffed.  "Yes, there's a disinfectant element which is essential to making sure your already exposed wounds won't carry any pathogens into the chamber.  Unless you want everyone getting sick?"   
  
"I'll deal with it."  Lance cast one more glance at Shiro, the trotted over into the side chamber.  The door closed firmly behind him, and then there was a rush of air that made Lance's hair fly up.  He snapped his hands down, stopping his shirt from following. A fine mist sprayed through next. Lance stilled, other than his eyes slamming shut, and he visibly ground his teeth.  After a moment, it all stopped, and the door on the opposite side of the chamber opened. When he stopped wincing, Lance spread his arms and walked through, probably about to be pulled into a hug.   
  
Pidge watched from the window, though Hunk had gone to greet Lance.  She smiled, then knocked on the glass. "You heading to bed, or can you hang out for a while, Shiro?"  Her tone was pointedly casual, but her head ducked awkwardly.   
  
Oh, boy.   
  
Shiro steeled himself and nodded.  But then a hand gently fell on his shoulder, stilling him.   
  
"Actually," Coran said.  "I would like to speak with Shiro for a moment first."   
  
It was uncharitable, but Shiro's first feeling was relief.  He nodded agreeably. "After," he promised Pidge. "Or, tomorrow, if this takes a while."   
  
"We'll be up," Pidge said, but she nodded and pushed away from the window as well.  Shiro’s last glance of her was the slump of her shoulders, like she was curling in on herself.   
  
Coran gave Shiro's shoulder a gentle nudge, encouraging him to walk down into the hallway.  Then he gave him a shrewd once over, mustache twitching thoughtfully. "I heard your discussion with Lance."   
  
Well, Shiro certainly hoped so.  He'd been in the same room, and neither of them had been whispering.  "Did something concern you?"   
  
"Concern is perhaps the wrong word."  Coran paused, head tilted. "No, it is correct.  I'm sure you've heard Hunk's argument about putting everyone in quarantine and shortening the possible time we'll be missing Voltron?"   
  
Shiro could still picture that conversation perfectly.  Hunk's clear eyes and curling fingers, the conviction and relief in his voice.  How he'd sought out Shiro's approval, needed his agreement.   
  
A shiver worked up Shiro's spine as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.  The minute movements of muscle made his back throb.   
  
If he just scratched one time, one little movement, it could all be over and he wouldn't have to constantly fight his own body—   
  
Shiro bit down on his tongue.  Hard.   
  
The pain, stronger and more direct that the itching and throbbing, gave him something to focus on until the worst of the urge passed.  He nodded to Coran, fighting to keep his expression neutral. "I've heard it, yes. I disagree, because it assumes eventual failure. It's unfortunate that we've already lost so many pilots, but it doesn't make sense to lose more for possibly longer."   
  
Coran searched over his face.  "I suppose it is a pessimistic view.  It could also be a merciful one." He leaned over so his back was pressed to the wall next to Shiro.  "Voltron is important to the universe. We wouldn't have asked you all to suffer this way for less. I know Princess Allura has spoken to you on that.  But there comes a time when the needs of the few do outweigh the needs of the many. We don't enjoy watching your struggles and pain, and at some point the wisest solution may be to cut our losses."   
  
Stiffening, Shiro raised his chin and set his shoulders. "I disagree.  I don't think the needs of the universe outweigh an extra two days of itching.  We're well over halfway, and at this point it's a waste to give in." When Coran didn't look moved, he took a breath.  "Besides, I have evidence to suggest Keith and I will manage."   
  
One brow up, Coran tilted his head.  "Oh? Do you two have some extra resistance?"   
  
"Not as such."  Shiro glanced back toward the door to the med bay.  "There's a pattern to all three we've seen already scratch.  Each time, they were isolated. Pidge threw herself into projects and wasn't in the mood for people, and she broke first.  Hunk was alone with his thoughts afterward and talked himself into being second. Lance insisted he didn't need company after a spat with Keith, so I left him be, and he was next."  Shiro held out his hands and shrugged. "We work best when we can support and look out for each other. That's true in the field and true in our interpersonal lives. Keith and I have a history of supporting each other, and when we've been tempted we've been able to distract or help each other.  If we've done it so far, then we can do it for a little while longer."   
  
This time, Coran looked properly thoughtful.  "Yes, I see. That does make sense." He tapped the heel of his foot against the wall as he pondered, then nodded.  "Well, I'm not here to force a choice on you. It's up to you and Keith how you wish to continue, or if you'd rather join the others in quarantine.  If this is the path you want, you're more than welcome to continue. Allura and I appreciate and value the effort and sacrifice you're putting in. But know that there is no shame in a tactical retreat."   
  
"I know."  Shiro patted Coran on the shoulder, despite the ache in his palms.  He needed to go get those mitts again, annoying as they were. "Thank you for speaking with me.  Allura let me off the hook as well. Keith and I are determined to wait this out, but if either of us breaks or chooses relief, we know there won't be repercussions."   
  
Coran smiled back.  "Excellent. So long as you know that.  I need to speak with Princess Allura, but feel free to spend as much time as you want with the others.  It's perfectly safe so long as no one tries to open the connecting chambers."   
  
"Of course."  Shiro smiled at Coran and gave a small wave as he ambled contentedly down the hallway.   
  
He waited there, hand still up.  Then he let it drop, heart in his throat.   
  
Pidge had asked him to stay.  They were probably bored, cooped up in that little room.  Even if they had ways of entertaining themselves, that wasn't the same as freedom.   
  
But standing outside that window and speaking with them all, knowing they didn't itch anymore, and one little movement would fix his own pain — that sounded like torture.   
  
They didn't have to know.  As far as they were aware, Coran and Shiro were still talking.  He'd visit with them tomorrow instead.   
  
Turning, Shiro made his way down the hallway toward his rooms.  He needed a break from his head, and Keith had a rough enough day already.  He didn't need the burden of supporting Shiro.   
  
A nap.  A quick rest.  Then he'd figure out what to do next.   
  
***   
  
Shiro should have expected this.   
  
He stared up at his ceiling, breathing heavily.  Sweat dribbled down his forehead, an extra layer of sensation and tacky itch that only added to the constant cacophony of his body.  He pressed his mitt-covered hands harder to the bed, resisting the urge to rest them anywhere on his torso. The temptation to scratch would be too strong.   
  
It was normal for Shiro to sleep in fits and starts.  Even before his year in captivity, he'd had a habit of waking up from too much noise or light.  He could fall asleep easily then, so it wasn't a serious problem, but it had been a constant annoyance while on base, and then when living with another man.  Then he'd slept on the ship to Kerberos, an even more difficult prospect, before being captured. His memories from there were patchy, but Shiro doubted he was ever secure enough to rest deeply.   
  
That was to say, his lack of sleep wasn't abnormal.  It shouldn't have left Shiro so wrecked, not when he'd been living this way for so much of his life.   
  
But, at least in his memory, Shiro didn't usually wake up to the nightmare continuing.   
  
In his mind's eye, he could see the strange beast's half a dozen tiny, beady eyes as it wound through the arena.  He could see the way the mouth unhinged, showing rows and rows of rotating teeth, the gargle as something bubbled up from its throat.   
  
But more than anything, Shiro remembered the way the acid had felt as it had splashed over him.  How it had made his skin burn and peel away, boil up as he watched.   
  
Then Shiro had woken up, scrambling against the bed and kicking off the covers, only to see those exact same swollen lumps still covering him.   
  
Bug bites.  They were bug bites.  But it was so hard to remember when he could still smell the cooking skin and the acrid liquid.   
  
Shiro's chest heaved and his heart pounded loudly as he forced his eyes to stay up, taking in the faint details of his room.  The bed was too soft, the pale blue lines familiar and Altean. This wasn't the arena. He was in the Castle of Lions.   
  
"It wasn't real," he murmured, just for the sound of his own voice to break the stillness.  It was quiet in his room, enough that he could mistake the rushing of blood in his ears to the roar of a crowd.  "It wasn't real."   
  
It wasn't.  The dream had been disjointed, disconnected.  Shiro's memory dreams often were, but not to such a degree.  As the creature had paced toward him, the arena had shifted between views.  The number of pillars changed, the lighting changed from light to dim and back, the floor got sandier and his steps clumsier.  More importantly, Shiro still had skin at all. It couldn't have all been burned off.   
  
It was a lie.  A stress dream, brought on by his body's discomfort and his attempts to fight it.   
  
"It wasn't real," Shiro repeated, louder this time.  His voice echoed, returning to him.   
  
He didn't sound sure, even to himself.   
  
Shiro rolled over in protest.  He let out a ragged groan as the bites on his back scraped against the fabric, and other as he put pressure on his chest.  In the mitts, his hands curled, just loose enough to keep the fingers from touching his palm.   
  
He couldn't see them.  Like this, on his stomach, he couldn't see any of his body, only the pillow and headboard.  Shiro had looked before, but had he really checked? Was he sure it was just the bug bites, and not the peeling back skin he'd remembered?   
  
What if he hadn't seen clearly in the quick, panicked glance?  What if he really was covered in acid? It felt like it, all of his skin burning and pulled taught.   
  
If he just pulled off the mitts and looked—   
  
"No," Shiro growled, closing his eyes firmly.  "Shut up."   
  
But was he  _ sure? _   
  
Yes!  It was the bug bites.  He knew it was just the stupid bites.  It had been that way for days.   
  
Unless that had been the dream—   
  
Stop.  No. That wasn't true.   
  
Except, could Shiro be sure of anything that was true?  His head was such a mishmash of half-memories and nightmares.  Could he really keep track anymore, when some days he couldn't keep track of where he was?   
  
"Enough!"  Shiro pushed himself up, panting now.  He looked down at the mitts, then finally ripped them off.   
  
He had skin.  Skin that was covered in bites.   
  
Hah!  Just like he'd told—   
  
Himself.   
  
Shiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath.   
  
This was ridiculous.  He needed to get himself under control.  A distraction. A break from how his thoughts continued to spiral.   
  
Shiro needed another person.  He needed someone he trusted, someone whose sense of reality he could rely on.   
  
Keith.   
  
But that was asking too much.  Keith had been struggling so much today, mostly with his own pent up energy.  It wasn’t right to ask him to support someone else on top of that.   
  
Shiro's thigh twitched, the whole muscle seizing as a powerful itch ran through him.   
  
Gritting his teeth, Shiro breathed through the urge.  It took several seconds for it to pass, and only then did he dare to relax even a slight amount.   
  
This shouldn't be so difficult.  Shiro knew he'd suffered so much worse than a few bug bites.  Even if he didn't remember much, the very existence of his prosthetic arm proved that.   
  
Despite how many times Shiro tried to tell himself, his fingers curled into the open air.   
  
If he didn't do something, he was going to break tonight.  Shiro could see it in front of him, could imagine the sweet relief of digging his nails in and just releasing himself.  Damning the universe so he wouldn't be suffering anymore.   
  
That wasn't right.  Shiro couldn't do that.  Everyone else could, but he needed to be a paladin more than he needed relief.   
  
If he wasn't a paladin, what was he?  If he gave it up for the sheer visceral relief of not being in pain, it meant he could be broken.  It meant that enough pain crumbled his resolve into doing what he knew wasn't right.   
  
If he broke now, when else had he broken?   
  
Shiro threw his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on the silken sleep pants.  They brushed tantalizingly against his legs, touching the heated skin just enough to hint and tease at relief.  Shuddering through that, Shiro didn't even bother with his shirt.   
  
He didn't have to wake Keith up or bother him.  He'd just head in that direction. See if the light was on in his room, and maybe he wouldn't mind some company?  Nothing more than that.   
  
It would help to be together.  To have that presence. After all, Shiro had just told Coran a few hours ago that support was the key.     
  
Shiro opened the door, determined.   
  
Only to find Keith already there, shivering hard.   
  
Freezing, Shiro dropped his hand, his eyes wide.  "Keith? What's wrong?"   
  
Keith looked up.   
  
His cheeks were blotchy and his eyes dark.   
  
His neck had several red gouges on either side, slowly trickling blood.   
  
Keith had scratched.  And now he was here for Shiro to deal with the fallout.    
  
Shiro's stomach dropped out from under him.  He felt lightheaded from the whiplash, the hope for relief replaced by the weight of burden.   
  
He didn't manage a word.  He just stared at the red marks, trying to rearrange his brain from his post-nightmare haze to reality.   
  
"I'm sorry," Keith said, voice rough.  His hands curled in the air by his shoulders, dark blood visible under his nails.  There was desperation to his eyes as he stared up at Shiro. Not to fix the situation, but for absolution.   
  
Like Hunk, he wanted permission.   
  
Permission that it would be cruel to deny, but that cost Shiro another chunk of his resolve.   
  
Keith had broken, and Shiro was doing this alone now.   
  
"Shiro?"  Keith dropped his hands, still waiting for an answer.  For anything at all.   
  
Shiro opened his mouth, but yet again there weren't words.  

If he spoke, Shiro wasn't sure what could come out.  He wasn't sure it wouldn't be snapped blame. Something unfair to lay in Keith’s lap just because Shiro was frustrated.

It was cruel and selfish, because Keith needed reassurance.  But Shiro couldn't say it was okay. Not when it meant only one lion between the Galra and their own safety.  Not when it was in the exact moment Shiro needed help most.    
  
So instead Shiro sighed and walked past.  He kept his mouth shut and his head held high as he stepped around Keith and down the hall toward the med bay.   
  
His chest tightened with each step.  This was wrong. Shiro knew this was wrong.  But he'd reached the end of what he could do.  It was better to say nothing than to make the situation worse, anyway.   
  
Shiro could apologize later. He'd visit in the morning, when his head was clearer.   
  
Just not right now.   
  
There was a long pause, where Shiro kept walking, and Keith stayed still and silent at the doorway.  Then, finally, footsteps joined his, tentative and quiet.   
  
Shiro walked them both to Coran's room and knocked.  He continued to stay silent when Coran answered, then winced at the sight of Keith.    
  
"Ah, well then," Coran said, startling loud after all the quiet.  "Let's get you to quarantine then, shall we?"   
  
"Yeah," Keith croaked out.  He looked one last time at Shiro, still desperate, but now resigned.   
  
Shiro hesitated, then offered Keith a pat on the shoulder.  His hand dropped after the brief touch.   
  
It was a pathetic attempt.   
  
Keith's shoulders slumped, even as he turned to face Coran again.   
  
Shiro took a deep breath, but he still didn't have words that would help the situation.  So instead he closed his eyes and walked away.   
  
In everything that had happened in the past few years of his life, he wasn't sure he'd regretted anything more.


	4. Chapter 4

"You going to stay there for the whole day?"   
  
Keith frowned at his reflection in the glass, shoulders tightening.  "Why not?" He asked, without turning to look and face Pidge properly.  What could he possibly be hurting by sitting here, anyway? There wasn't anything to see outside of their quarantine space, so no one else needed the seat right next to the window.   
  
Pidge snorted.  "Because you look like you want to crawl out of your skin.  You've got about twelve more days, yet. It's a little early to go stir crazy."   
  
Rolling his shoulders, Keith didn't look back.  Instead, he continued to stare out, hands clenched in his lap.  The room was small enough as it was, but sharing it with three other people made the sensation worse.  He desperately wished he had a place to go for even half an hour of privacy. They had an attached bathroom, but Keith had already spent ten minutes in there just taking a break from the others.  He didn't want to stay there longer or make a habit of that, because he didn't want anyone to start making comments about his bathroom schedule.   
  
Keith couldn't settle.  He'd spent all of last night tossing on his cot, even though he was exhausted from the past few days of constant itching.  He didn't like this small space, he didn't like being cooped up with other people, and he didn't like being helpless.   
  
If he could get out of here, even just for half an hour, then Keith could move around and stretch his legs and actually solve his problems instead of being useless.   
  
"Nah, Keith's not that bad yet," Lance drawled.  His voice made Keith's entire body tense. "You should have seen him pacing around the other day.  Nah, he's just been separated from his usual impulse control."   
  
Heart clenching, Keith closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  He focused on the clacking sound of Pidge and Lance's Flux System controllers, trying to block everything else out.   
  
Hunk let out a soft snort.  "Well, good luck to him. Shiro won't stay around here for longer than five minutes.  I've seen him look enemy Galra in the eye better than he did us last time he was here."   
  
"Yeah?"  There was a pause in the plastic noises, then Lance cursed and Pidge let out a pleased grunt.  "He said he was going to talk to you guys more. But he hadn't been here since he dropped me off."   
  
Keith finally opened his eyes and turned around, taking in the other three.  Pidge and Lance were jammed into one chair, both furiously pressing on their controllers.  Hunk was curled up on the floor next to them, cocooned in a blanket and watching will vague interest.   
  
There was always something going on in quarantine.  Card games or video games or trading stories. Keith wouldn't mind, except all three of them talked through it all, and it was more noise than he was used to.  He could have dealt with it easier if he could take breaks. But if he tried to tell them to stop, all three would jump on him for it.   
  
Normally, Keith could count on Shiro to be a quiet beacon of calm.   
  
Not anymore.   
  
Not when Shiro was mad at him, and Keith couldn't even go out and fix it.     
  
Pidge snorted, audibly pressing the buttons harder.  "Nope. Totally blew us off." She curled in further on herself.  "I mean, whatever. He's definitely not coming, so just don't get your hopes up or anything."   
  
Lance frowned up at Pidge.  "You think? They've practically been inseparable the past few days."   
  
"I'm right here."   
  
"You were."   
  
"That doesn't mean you have to talk about me like I'm not here."   
  
Pidge huffed at them both, not looking away from the screen.  She took full advantage of Lance's distraction to pummel his character mercilessly, expression tight.  "He's not staying around because he's mad at us, obviously."   
  
Pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders, Hunk frowned up at her.  "He didn't seem mad when he dropped of Lance, or when he talked to us."   
  
"Yeah, the five awkward minutes he could manage to look us in the face.  That definitely convinces me." Pidge's lips pulled back. "No, he's mad we didn't last and messed up Voltron.  He just doesn't want to admit it."   
  
Keith's stomach went icy.  That was exactly what he'd been circling, spoken plainly and openly.     
  
Lance frowned at sat up straighter.  On screen, his character flashed and went limp, but he didn't seem to care about that anymore.  "You think so? He didn't seem mad when I came to him." He narrowed his eyes as he considered. "I mean, he wasn't happy.  But of course he wasn't. It's not exactly a good thing that we're going to be locked up for two weeks."   
  
"Exactly."  Pidge slumped back in her seat, letting the controller go limp in her lap.  "Why wouldn't he be mad at us? Voltron is going to be out of commission for two weeks."   
  
"We're sick," Lance protested.  "He can't be that mad at us."   
  
"He's managing," Keith said quietly.  The other three suddenly turned to look at him, as if just remembering he was still in the conversation.  "It's day six, now. He's probably going to get through it if he hadn't broken by now."   
  
There was a long silence.  "I mean, he's got less to scratch," Lance said, but the joke was shaky.  "And he's— he's Shiro. Of course he can do it. But that doesn't mean he has to be mad when we mess up.  I mean, mine was an accident. I didn't mean to scratch at all, I was just washing my face."   
  
Hunk swallowed hard.  "Mine wasn't. I did it on purpose.  And Shiro said I could, so he's not really allowed to be mad then, right?"  He looked up hopefully. "I found out about the itching going away and I talked to him about it, and he gave me the go ahead to just scratch.  If he's mad, that's his own fault."   
  
"That's what you talked to him about?"   
  
Sitting up straighter, Hunk nodded.  "Yeah? I mean, I assume. You were there the other times we talked during this."   
  
Keith nodded slowly and sat back down in his chair.  "Oh. I wondered. After he was..." He winced and shrugged.  "I don't know what you said, but it stuck with him. He was kind of freaking out about it."   
  
There was another long pause.  "He did?" Hunk's voice got much smaller.  "I didn't think— I mean, I just wanted to make sure it was okay and I wasn't going to blow up the universe or something.  We were already down one and it seemed smarter to just give in and start the two weeks earlier. Why would that freak him out?"   
  
Shrugging, Keith shook his head. "I don't know exactly why.  He just—" He winced, aware Shiro wouldn't want this shared. But he wanted to pick out this wound, to pull it open until he saw how badly they'd fucked up.  He could only know how upset Shiro was if he knew the whole picture. If he'd ruined everything, it was better to know. "He needed a distraction after. You almost convinced him.  It was pretty bad, for him to admit he needed help."   
  
"Oh."  Hunk scrubbed over his face.  "I mean, I'm right. Maybe it was better if we all scratched that morning.  At least we wouldn't be suffering anymore."   
  
"I could have made it."  Lance crossed his arms, ignoring the disbelieving looks.  "I could have! I didn't give in. It sucked, but I was managing until I just scrubbed the wrong part of my face.  And Shiro can make it too. He's all, you know, disciplined."   
  
"Yeah," Pidge agreed vaguely, like she half-lost in her head.  "I just— you asked Shiro before you scratched, Hunk?"   
  
"I figured it was better than just doing it, yeah."   
  
Pidge pulled off her glasses and pushed her bangs out of her face.  "And by making it Shiro's choice, you made it his responsibility. It put him on the line for all the consequences."   
  
Freezing, Hunk stared up at her.  "What? No. I didn't do that. I just—"  He pulled the blanket up over his hair like a cloak.  "Wanted permission," he finally admitted, slamming his eyes shut.   
  
Immediately, Keith picked up on where Pidge was going with this.  "Who did you guys go to when you scratched?"   
  
"Shiro," Pidge answered, lips pressed grimly thin.   
  
"Shiro," Lance said, brows up.     
  
"Why?" Keith asked, both them and himself.  "Why wake up Shiro? We knew he was just going to get Coran.  Why not cut out the middle man?"   
  
"Um."  Lance let his head fall back.  "I don't know. Coran said we could go to Shiro if something happened at the beginning, right?  I didn't really think about it. I just went to him."   
  
"It feels weird to go to Coran sometimes," Hunk admitted.  "Not that he and Allura aren't nice and all. But Shiro's... we've known him for longer, even if we didn't know him.  It's more comfortable."   
  
Dropping her face into her hands, Pidge sighed.  "We're used to Shiro taking charge when things go wrong.  Even when he's suffering from them too." Her fingers curled in, nails digging into her forehead.  "Even if it woke him up, and even if he was already suffering enough, we went to him and made him deal with the fallout.  No wonder he doesn't want to talk to us."   
  
"We don't know that," Hunk said.  He looked from Pidge to Lance, and then at Keith.  "He doesn't think that way, right?"   
  
Keith looked at Hunk's hopeful expression, then slumped.  "I don't know. Normally he doesn't get mad at these things, but..."  He closed his eyes tightly, curling in further on himself. "He's definitely mad at me.  Really mad. He wouldn't talk to me at all."   
  
This time, the silence was shocked.  Lance held up his hands. "Woah, wait, like, not at all?"   
  
"He barely looked at me.  I came to him, and he just..."  Keith's throat closed up tightly. "He walked away without a word.  Dropped me off with Coran and left."   
  
"Oh," Hunk breathed.  He and Lance shared a wild, wounded look.     
  
Pidge peeked her eyes out from between her fingers, expression dark.  "He's mad at us. We all screwed up Voltron and then made him do everything alone.  He's probably furious."   
  
"And we deserve it," Keith finished, just as grim.   
  
*   
  
"—iro?"   
  
Shiro blinked rapidly as he was pulled back down into reality.  Ahead of him, a screen floated, paused automatically on the last frame of the video he'd been watching.  It did that automatically at the end of all media, but he hadn't even noticed.   
  
He'd been too lost in his head.  He'd been thinking about Voltron, then about fighting, until he was lost in an endless, theoretical battle for a featureless planet, where each defeated enemy was replaced by two more.   
  
As Shiro was jerked back to the present, it brought him suddenly back to his body as well.  He'd been itching, but distantly, vaguely. Like it was another body that itched, or he was remembering something in the past.  The burning pain came back like high tide in the dark, unseen but lapping at him. Mentally backing away, Shiro pushed the sensation away, holding onto the distant fuzz.   
  
Only then did he finally turn to look at Allura.  "Good morning, Princess."   
  
"Afternoon, actually."  Allura's eyes roamed over Shiro's face, her own expression pinched.  "Do you have a moment to speak with me?"   
  
Frankly, Shiro would rather not.  Engaging with Allura forced him to keep track of the present and stay physically bound to the moment.  When he was daydreaming, he didn't have to think about the shiver under his skin and the ache from every minute movement.  But Shiro's job wasn't to sit around and stare at blank screens, so he nodded and turned to face Allura. "Of course. Is there something I can help you with?"   
  
Allura sat down delicately next to Shiro, her hands folded in her lap.  "Actually, no. That's not what this is about."   
  
Just from her gentle tone and precise posture, Shiro could guess what Allura was going to say.   
  
Exhaustion pulled at his muscles, like gravity had increased a notch too high.  Shiro didn't want to have this discussion again. It was energy he didn't want to spend.  He hadn't slept much at all since the night Pidge had managed to to wake up him, and so everything felt like so much more effort than usual.   
  
"Princess," he began.   
  
Allura's lips pressed together.  "You said to Coran that the best method of keeping yourself safe was through support.  I agree that it helped, but that is no longer an option with all four of the other paladins in quarantine.  Your reaction since then has been to isolate yourself further."   
  
All true.  Shiro looked away, ignoring the complex, churning mixture of guilt and frustration in his stomach.  He should absolutely go spend time with them. All four together in a small room was a recipe for boredom or infighting, and he should at least be there to moderate if need be.   
  
But all four of them were free.  Their lack of a need it itch was a reminder that relief was only a split-second away, if Shiro was willing to sacrifice the safety of the universe and the Castle of Lions.   
  
He wasn't.  He couldn't be.  Shiro had survived so much worse for no reason but to save his own skin.  He was a paladin. He would not break. He was not broken.   
  
"It has," Shiro admitted.  "And if we were still in the beginning, then I would agree with you.  But the bites could begin to fade by as early as tonight. It's ridiculous to spend two additional movements in isolation rather than wait out a few more varga."   
  
Allura pressed her lips tightly.  "And if it's not that soon?"   
  
"Then it's just a few varga after that."   
  
That was Shiro's strategy, when he was focusing on it at all.  Just get through the next few hours by any means necessary. Repeat until the situation was resolved.   
  
"Shiro," Allura began, then stopped herself.  She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, pushing back the curls.  "You realize Voltron is already grounded for the next two movements, even if you get through, correct?  We won't be answering any distress signals."   
  
"Except for the ones that come to us," Shiro replied immediately.  "If the Galra come, better to have at least one lion."   
  
Allura pressed her lips together, clearly disapproving.  Shiro could appreciate that sending out just one lion was dangerous.  But he didn't see an alternative.   
  
Finally, Allura sighed.  "What about after? Will you be alright in your own version of isolation for those two weeks?"   
  
The question was startling enough that Shiro could only laugh.  "Of course. I can speak with them as I need to, for one. For another, I've never been the sort of person who needs people around them constantly.  It's nice to have companionship, but I won't die if I go two weeks on the other side of a window."   
  
A twitch jolted through Shiro's shoulder.  He automatically reached up, then caught himself and pushed the hand further into the covers.   
  
Allura watched him, expression completely flat.   
  
"Just a few more varga," Shiro repeated, a mantra meant to convince himself just as much as Allura.  "I can make it. I'll be okay. Don't ask me to give up when I'm so close."   
  
Finally, Allura softened.  "It's not giving up. I just don't want you to suffer.  I worry that you're so willing to put yourself through it, and—"   
  
She cut off as the lights went red, and a blaring alarm filled the castle.   
  
The alarm.   
  
Allura's earrings flashed as well, a signal of an incoming message.   
  
"Princess!"  Coran called, voice just barely distinguishable.  "We have a fleet incoming!"   
  
Immediately, Allura jolted to her feet.  "What? How! We're no where near any Galra inhabited planet."   
  
"I can't say.  But there's a good number of them, and they knew exactly where we were.  A scouting ship may have found us with reported our location."   
  
Allura's expression went grim.  "Understood. I'll be in the command room shortly.  Shiro—"   
  
Ignoring the beginnings of her order, Shiro leaned forward so her earrings would pick up his voice.  "How many, Coran?"   
  
"Three main warbirds," Coran said.  "They-" There was a jolt, nearly sending Allura and Shiro both to the floor.  "They're releasing smaller fighters. This must be the first wave. If they knew where the Voltron was hiding, they'll be sending more than a couple of ships."   
  
Turning on Shiro, Allura narrowed her eyes.  "I do not authorize you doing anything impulsive, Shiro."   
  
"Can you teleduv us out while we're being fired upon like this?"   
  
Allura's lips pressed thin again.  "With some concentration and luck, and with evasive maneuvers?  Yes."   
  
Shiro only stared back.  "If we aren't lucky? Like normal."   
  
"It will be difficult," Allura admitted.  "But that's no reason at all to throw you and the Black Lion into ridiculous danger.  Can you even fly in your state?"   
  
"Yes." Shiro stood up and straightened.  The more the situation solidified in his mind, the more distant his body felt.  It was all just a means to an end, and his thoughts were the coming battle, not the itching bites.  "If it takes too long, we'll have far more than an advance party here. Worse case scenario, Zarkon's personal ship and fleet will be on top of us while we're down four lions.  If we're not gone by the time he gets here, it's over. Especially if he can overwhelm my connection to Black again. Then we'll be utterly sitting ducks."   
  
The metaphor didn't translate, but it didn't need to.  Allura hesitated, then gave a frustrated groan. "Fine!  You can go out for a short period of time. But we'll be monitoring you.  If we feel you're performance is affected or you're too far outmatched, I will order you back, and you had better listen as fast as—"  She cut off as they rocked again.   
  
"Understood, yes, fine."  Shiro darted for the door, Allura right by his side.  "I'll respect whatever call you make. But I'd rather give us an actual shot at getting out of here."   
  
"Be careful, Shiro."  Allura cast one last worried look at him, then turned right at the next fork as Shiro turned left.  "We'll cover you. Come back safely."   
  
"I will."  Without a backward glance, Shiro set off at a full sprint.  He wasn't wearing his armor or his helmet, but there was just no time, especially not when it would only destroy his concentration more.   
  
Running up to the Black Lion, barefoot and in his pajamas, was utterly surreal.  Shiro couldn't help feeling like he'd walked into one of his more ridiculous dreams.  Next he'd be forced to take Montgomery's physic's test all over again, this time with Haggar proctoring.   
  
Alright, enough.  It was time to focus.   
  
Shiro stepped in through the lion's maw and sat down in the pilot's chair. The consoles and screens immediately lit, and the Black Lion rumbled around him.   
  
"Just me and you today," he said quietly.  "We're going to be a distraction. You ready for this?"   
  
There was a distant curiosity and a quiet sense of disappointment.  Loneliness.    
  
Yeah, Shiro too.  It felt strange to be sitting in this chair, in his pajamas, all alone.   
  
Despite that, the Black Lion's feet lit, and they rocketed out of the hangar and into the fray.  Three Galra ships loomed, already surrounding the Castle of Lions as they unleashed a torrent of smaller ships.  They fired on the castle's shields. While the jets did little, each shot from the canon of the larger ships sent huge ripples through the honeycomb sphere.  As Shiro watched, a hole ripped through the protective barrier, only barely missing one of the towers. The energy dissipated on the other side, the the tear filled back in.  But for anything to be getting through, then the shields wouldn't last that much longer.   
  
Time to focus.   
  
Shiro took a deep breath, then let it go.  He tightened his hands around the controls, ignoring the way the cold metal rubbed temptingly against his palm.  It sent a shiver through him which he ruthlessly shoved to the back of his head. "Warn me when you're ready to wormhole out."   
  
"We will," Coran replied, voice tight.  "Be cautious, Shiro. We don't need full engagement.  Just enough of a distraction to give us a window."   
  
Shiro nodded, but didn't bother to respond otherwise. Instead he dove into the fray, a streak of black, red and gold.  His hands tightened on the controls as the Black Lion's jaw opened, releasing a powerful burst of energy that sent several of the small ships scattering.   
  
As he leaned forward, Shiro's shoulders burned.  His movements pulled the skin taut from his tense muscles, tugging on the bites.  His swollen palms shivered, wanting to pull away from and rub against the levers all at once.   
  
Shiro shook his head, pushing away the sensations.  He had to close his eyes to keep his arms from automatically yanking.   
  
When he opened then, one of the large ships had moved their canon, so it was pointed right at the Black Lion.   
  
They fired.   
  
Shiro yanked himself to the side, breathing hard from the scare.  The Black Lion rolled to the side, making Shiro's view spiral sickeningly.  A burst from the claw rockets straightened him, but he had to immediately shoot forward again as the small ships began to converge on him.  Half a dozen opened fire from all directions. Shiro swerved wildly. Several made jarring impact, power enough that Shiro's teeth clattered together, but they made it through without significant damage.   
  
"Shiro!"  Allura called, like this wasn't the first time she'd said his name.  "If there are too many, you must come back!"   
  
No, he's just begun.  Shiro was adjusting. He'd been distracted, but no more.   
  
Eyes narrowed, Shiro leaned forward, lips pulled back.  His world narrowed in, shoving away from his physical body and throwing himself full-heartedly into the connection with Black and the fight in front of us. He breathed heavily, hot puffs of air that collected behind his bared teeth.   
  
The center most of the big ships began to charge, their canon still aimed at the castle.   
  
Shiro shot forward.   
  
They wove through the enemy jets, crashing past without care.  Black was bigger and tougher than those jets — they would come out on top.  The wings tucked in against Black's flanks as if to lower air resistance, and Shiro growled just as the jaw blade formed.  Then he swerved by the ship, curling along the flank and leaving deep gouges in the metal. As they passed by the canon, it sparked, then shattered.  The shockwave jarred Black, shoving them away from the ship.   
  
Right into the beam of the third.   
  
Shiro grunted, nearly thrown from his seat at the force.  The impact jammed him against the seat. Without his armor, his was more vulnerable, likely to bruise.   
  
Bruises didn't matter.  He'd deal with them later.   
  
Shiro needed to win this fight.  He needed to survive.   
  
Eyes snapping open, Shiro whirled Black around, only to see dozens more of the smaller ships converging on them, as well as the two warbirds with functional cannons.   
  
Shiro's mind went quiet and still.  The noise seemed to fade out, except for the sound of his own breathing and the low rumble of his lion's growl.   
  
His eyes darted back and forth, charting a line that connected as many of the ships as he could.  On screen, the same path lit up between the blinking dots that signified enemy crafts.   
  
Shiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath.   
  
When he opened them, he didn't see ships.  Just a swarm of enemies between him and survival.   
  
Then he moved.   
  
*   
  
"Coran?  Allura? Shiro?  Come in, please. What's going on?"  Pidge gripped her tablet tightly, pacing along the edge of the quarantine room.  Her heart pounded in her throat like it wanted to escape through her jugular.   
  
As she moved, the ship rocked again.  The alarms had stopped soon after they started, but impacts continued to come.   They only happened a couple of times a minute, but that was still a sign that something was deeply wrong.   
  
Keith's eyes tracked Pidge, the rest of his body eerily still.  It made him look like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.  "If they don't answer, I say we go check it out ourselves."   
  
"We don't know what's happening," Hunk pointed out.  He was curled in the seat by the screen, knees up to his chest.  "Coran was really serious about us staying in here. Getting sick and dying won't help anyone."   
  
Lance shrugged, watching Keith back from the far wall.  "I mean, if it's between getting blown up and getting sick?  I take getting sick. We at least have pods and medicine for that."   
  
"We don't know that anyone's getting blown up!"   
  
"What do you think is shaking the ship, then?"   
  
Hunk sighed and dropped his head back against the back of his chair.  "We're getting attacked, but this is a castle. We've seen the hits it can take.  It doesn't do us any good for us to freak ourselves out, run out there, and it turns out we were just hiding in a gas giant or something and we all exposed ourselves for nothing."   
  
"You'd rather wait in here where it's safe?" Keith asked slowly.  His eyes seemed to burn, even from the other side.   
  
Scowling, Hunk drew himself up.  "I'd say I'd rather not rush in just because we're antsy and you feel guilty!"   
  
"Would you two cut it out?"  Pidge jabbed on her tablet again, lighting up the communicator function.  Without access to the ship's consoles and their own helmets, it was the best they had.  "Come on, someone answer already."   
  
Lance looked between Keith and Hunk, eyes narrowed.  "If we don't hear back in a couple of minutes, I say we bust out."   
  
"What?"  Hunk whirled around to stare at him.  "You too?"   
  
"If no one at all replies in that time, something's more wrong than a weird environmental change," Lance pointed out.  Under Hunk's betrayed glare he wilted but didn't back down. "At that point, we're probably in trouble anyway. So screw it."   
  
Hunk huffed at him, then turned to Pidge.  "What do you think?"   
  
"I—"   
  
The tablet finally beeped, and Coran's face showed.  "We're a little busy at the moment," he told them, eyes on whatever his hands were doing rather than the camera.  "If you need something, it's going to have to wait a few dobashes."   
  
"What's going on?"  Pidge asked. "We heard the alarms and now the castle's shaking.  Do you need us?"   
  
This time, Coran's eyes did snap to hers.  "Absolutely not! The situation would not be improved by exposing you all to potentially fatal illnesses."   
  
"Where's Shiro?" Keith demanded, voice suddenly right at Pidge's shoulder.  She jolted and nearly fumbled the tablet, but managed to hold on by the tips of her fingers.  Keith was damn near silent when he wanted to be.   
  
Coran sighed and glanced to the side.  "He's in the Black Lion."   
  
Pidge's stomach dropped down to her feet.  It wasn't an unexpected answer, but to hear it still made her feel cold all over.  She had to tighten her grip to keep her hands from shaking. "Alone? How many are out there?"   
  
"Not so many we felt uncomfortable sending him out," Coran replied, which was not an answer at all.  "Shiro isn't fighting them off. He's just giving us a short distraction so Allura can prepare a wormhole without pulling power from the shields.  It should be just a few more moments."   
  
"I'm just about ready," Allura replied, a hint of strain to her voice.  "Shiro, you can pull back now."   
  
There was no reply.   
  
"Shiro?"   
  
Immediately, Keith turned and started for the emergency exit to the quarantine chamber.  But Pidge reached out, lighting fast, and caught him by the back of his shirt before he could make an impulse decision.  "Is Shiro hurt?"   
  
"No, he's fine.  He's holding his own quite admirably."  Despite the complimentary phrase, Coran's eyes were tight at the corner, and his shoulders were stiff.  "There just must be a communication error. He's not wearing his helmet, I imagine. It might make it more difficult to respond, especially if there's any interference."   
  
Hunk stepped over as well, rubbing his palms together nervously.  "We really will help," he said, eyes darting to Keith. "Should Shiro be out there alone?  Especially when he's still feeling the symptoms of the bites."   
  
Coran's lips pressed thin, and his eyes darted away, no doubt to watch the battle.  "I know you will," he replied, gentler now. "But the situation is handled. Please trust me on that.  Stay where you are for now."   
  
"I'm ready for a wormhole," Allura said, voice louder and more confident.  Commanding. "Shiro, fall back now. We'll leave as soon you're in the hangar."  A pause. "Shiro, I said head back!"   
  
"Stay," Coran repeated, voice hardening.  "The situation is handled." He gave Keith an extra pointed look before the screen cut off.   
  
They were left alone again.   
  
Pidge threw the tablet onto the cot with a frustrated grunt, then ran both her hands through her hair.   
  
The room was deathly silent.  There weren't even any more explosions or jarring impacts to break the heavy atmosphere.   
  
Shiro was fighting the Galra alone, because each and every one of them had broken.   
  
Closing her eyes, Pidge pressed her back to the wall and slowly slid down, eyes slammed shut.    
  
Why shouldn't Shiro hate them after this?  They were lucky if he'd still want them on the team.  Maybe he'd send them all home and get new paladins who would hold out and be with him in a fight.   
  
"So we just wait?" Lance asked, small and breathless.  "Hope it all works out?"   
  
"Apparently," Keith spat.  There was a thump, then a low curse.  Pidge looked up just in time to see him shake out his hand after punching the wall.   
  
"We can't do anything else," Hunk said, low and pained.  "We made our choice."   
  
Yes, they did.   
  
And now they had to live with the consequences.  Including whatever Shiro was going to say when he got back.   
  
(If he got back.)   
  
What if Pidge's choice to scratch got Shiro killed?  She was the first, and that caused the chain reaction of everyone else.  If it wasn't for her, maybe someone else would be out there with Shiro.   
  
What if her need for immediate gratification got part of her new family killed?   
  
Eyes burning, Pidge curled up in a tight little ball, as if that could help her hide from her thoughts.   
  
Then she waited.   
  
***   
  
The numbers were thinning.   
  
Shiro shot between ships at full speed.  The jawblade sliced through one, and then he flipped the Black Lion around to jump off another, sending it crashing into a third.  Shoot, scratch, crash, bite, rend.   
  
The open space around him was littered with debris of destroyed ships, even after just minutes of battle.  It created a new set of hazards, obstacles to twist around and crash pursuing enemies into. Clumps of twisted metal rolled dangerously through the void, ripping any jets they touched to shreds.   
  
Shiro noticed it all distantly, dispassionately.  Like he was watching instead of truly piloting. Even his hands on the levers felt far away, like they weren't a part of him.  Just another piece of Black's machinery.   
  
The rest of his mind was completely focused on the swarm around him.  On the most efficient, clean way to destroy everything around him.   
  
It was a matter of survival.  Shiro had to take out his opponents fast, before they could strike him down.  He was surrounded, attacked at all angles. But he was faster. Stronger.   
  
He would win.   
  
There was rushing in his ears, a roar and voices that never fully stepped.  Chatter he couldn't afford to pay attention to. Not when his opponents were still fighting back.   
  
A pulse and a flash of light, as one of the two larger ships drew in power.   
  
Shiro pulled back hard, sending Black rocketing upward, then to the right.  The cannon fire followed them, the powerful beam of energy demolishing anything in its path — including other Galra ships.  It continued to try and track Shiro, not caring for the collateral damage, and only stopping shy of hitting the other full warbird.   
  
Which also had been drawing in power, and released it the second Shiro was in the line of fire.   
  
The second cannon shot was too sudden to fully dodge.  Shiro tried to pull away, and managed to yank Black out of the direct path of the beam.  But it still clipped the lion's side, impacting with enough force to send them spinning out of control.  They impacted several of the pursuing smaller jets, yet more impacts that jarred Shiro around inside the cockpit.    
  
He clung desperately to the levers as he was nearly thrown from the chair.  Shiro's teeth cracked together, and the back of his head thumped against his set.  The ringing in his ears and the distant voices only got louder, more insistent, as Shiro tried to regain control.   
  
Pain arched through Shiro and Black both.  In this distant mental state, there was so little difference between them.  Just pure, mechanical strategy and the cold, cutthroat need to survive. The screens showed that the Black Lion's front right leg was damaged.  But they didn't need that. They could win without it.   
  
Shiro growled.  Black growled.   
  
The warbird loomed over them, so much larger than both.  But that had never stopped Shiro before.   
  
They shot forward, using the lion's claws to rake along the ship's hull.  It did damage, leaving trails of sparks and explosions behind, but not enough to take the ship down.   
  
Shiro knew ships like this, from study and from experience.  He knew where the engines were.   
  
Opening the mouth, the Black Lion let out a roar, then fired a shot of their own.  It buckled the hull, and a swipe of the jaw blade cracked through the rest.   
  
Other jets started to circle them, firing on Black's exposed back.  The shots hurt, dozens of tiny welts that lanced through the back and made Shiro's stomach twist.  But he blocked that out, and so did Black.   
  
Instead, the continued to fire.  Again and again, right into the exposed innards of the ship until the vibrations under the Black Lions' claws stopped.   
  
There was a flash of warning from Black, but they were flying away before they even finished the thought.  So they were already a good distance away when the ship started to buckle and light up from inside.   
  
The warbird blew, taking out all the smaller ships nearby in the shockwave.  Debris scattered, buffeting even more of the jets, and pummeling the center warbird with the damaged canon. The whole ship shuddered, then went dark as it was shredded.   
  
Shiro and Black watched, dispassionate and grimly satisfied.   
  
One major opponent left.   
  
The last ship tried to fire on them, but with no other distractions, Shiro easily pulled out of the way.  They followed the beam of light back toward the canon at full speed. Flipping Black around, Shiro extended the claws and let them rake over the hull as they crashed against it.  The jolt of impact sent him tumbling, and only his grip on the levers kept him from being flung halfway across the room. His shoulders ached from the strain, but he managed to keep himself in place.   
  
In a battle between the Black Lion and the Galra ship, Black won.  They tore a huge section of the hull clean, including part of where the canon was attached to the ship.  Another blast rendered the whole thing utterly useless, cutting off the wires and connections normally protected inside.   
  
Defeated.  No kill, but as good as unarmed.   
  
Shiro had won.   
  
The shot away from the crippled ship, back toward the Castle of Lions.  The smaller ships continued to try and fire, but they couldn't keep up with Black's speed or break through the lion's defenses to do real damage.   
  
Only then did Shiro actually listen to the cries around him.   
  
They weren't the cheers he expected.  No chants.   
  
"-iro, come in!"  Allura ordered. "You need to come back now before the reinforcements arrive.  We're ready to go. Head back to the castle immediately!"   
  
Oh.   
  
His job hadn't been to fight and to win.  It had been to distract.   
  
Shiro had forgotten.   
  
How had he forgotten that?   
  
They flew through the barrier and into Black's hangar.  As soon as they did so, there was a flash of power. On screen, a wormhole appeared.   
  
Just as several more Galra warships started to pop back into existence from hyperdrive.   
  
But before any of them could fire, the castle flew through the wormhole, which disappeared behind them.  Before Black even landed (on three, shaky paws), they were far away.   
  
Shiro stared at the screen, struggling to understand.  Finally, he dropped his hands into his lap, still staring.  He felt no need to move, no rush to confront Allura or handle the rest of reality.  Gravity pressed down on his body, weighing down his limbs, while his mind continued to float above, as if on the surface of invisible waves.   
  
Black let out another rumble, questioning and with a hint of worry.   
  
Black, who definitely needed repairs after all that.   
  
"I'll get Coran to see to you," Shiro said.  He forced himself up to his feet, swaying in place before his balance kicked in.   
  
The worry nudged at the back of his mind again, but Shiro just gave the seat a last pat before walking down and out.

  
Allura waited for him in the hangar, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.

  
Shiro came to a stop in front of her.  He recognized that she was upset with him.  That was bad. 

 

But Shiro couldn't bring himself to properly dread it.  There were about to be consequences, but he feared them as much as he feared the climax of a movie.

  
"Was your communicator damaged?" Allura asked, when Shiro didn't speak.  "Were you able to hear Coran and myself telling you to pull back?"

  
"They were working.  I didn't hear."

  
Allura's expression faltered.   She looked up at him, expression softening slowly.  Instead, she gently took hold hold of his wrist and turned his palm over.

  
The bites were intact.

  
Shiro stared at his palm, blinking slowly, then he looked back up at her.

  
"Perhaps it would have been easier if they'd burst," Allura mused, mostly to herself.  Then she looked up again at Shiro's face. "This is enough, Shiro. You've held out long enough.  Let's get you to quarantine."   
  
For the first time, the words pierced through the cotton veil around Shiro's mind. He jolted and pulled his hand back.  "What? No. I didn't break. I can make it."

  
"Shiro—"

  
"I didn't break!"  His voice rose, closer to an all out yell than he ever let himself.  He took hold of her by the shoulders, lit from within by the frantic need to convince her.  "I didn't. Allura, please, I didn't."

  
Eyes wide, Allura tried to pull back, but Shiro held her firm.  He had to make her understand. "I know you didn't. But it's time.  You're torturing yourself like this, and you're clearly suffering in more ways than physical,” she said.

  
Shaking his head hard, Shiro took deep, frantic breaths of air, trying to hold onto his calm.  But the stillness of before was gone, like Allura had dropped a rock into a pond, leaving behind ripples and waves.  "I can do it. I can stay a paladin. I can still fight. Princess, please."

  
Finally, Allura stilled.  Her eyes tracked over his face as she slowly slumped.  "Oh, Shiro," she murmured. "Have you felt this way the whole time?"  When Shiro didn't answer, she sighed. "You will still be a paladin after, same as the others.  You will not be penalized for giving into your symptoms. Had I known you felt this way, I would have taken your reassurances with a grain of salt."   
  
Shiro dropped his hands and swallowed hard.  He shook his head, heart still pounding in his ears.  "No. I can't break. Not just for this. He'll be right."

  
"Who will be right?"

  
"Sen..."  Shiro trained off, realizing far too late that Allura hadn't known about that.  No one had, because he'd been alone, and it had probably been in his own head anyway.  

  
Even that one syllable was enough to give it away.  Allura's eyes widened, and then she stepped forward, right into Shiro's space.  "Sendak told you that you'd broken?"   
  
Under her direct, passionate stare, Shiro didn't have the energy to lie.  So instead he slumped in place and nodded, eyes screwed closed. "He did."   
  
"Do you trust him more, or me?"

  
What kind of question was that?  "You," Shiro replied, without hesitation.

  
"Then trust when I say that Sendak is a liar whose opinion you should discount.  He was trying to hurt you. If you did ever give in, it was under pain and duress."  Allura tapped on Shiro's chest until he opened his eyes again to look at her. "I know you.  You're a good person. Allowing yourself release does not change that."

  
"Even if it's my itch against the entire universe?" 

  
"Are you that judgmental toward the other paladins?"

  
No, of course not.  But Shiro was last, so he had a responsibility to hold out.  Besides, they weren't starting from the same point. They weren't making up for their past like Shiro was.   
But all those words faded under Allura's stern stare.

  
"You will not be flying the Black Lion again for the next two weeks."  Allura held up a hand before he could protest. "I should not have been persuaded this time.  It's too dangerous for one pilot. You could have easily been overtaken several times in that battle.  And I do not believe flying in isolation is good for you. You said before that company and support made you all more capable.  I agree with that, and I don't want any of you out there alone again if we can help it."

  
Shiro's stomach twisted, but he dutifully nodded.  "I understand. I'm sorry to have let you down, and to have broken our agreement."   
  
"This is not a punishment.  This is a sensible regulation."  Allura reached up and cupped Shiro's jaw, gentle so as not to rupture any bites.  "We ask you to take on so much responsibility when you've already shouldered so much.  This isn't your call anymore. Not to punish you, but to spare you. I'll take hold of it for the next two weeks, and you can have it back after.  Please, Shiro. Give yourself time to recover. As a friend, I don't wish to watch you suffer anymore."

  
Shiro stood stock still, trembling slightly under Allura's warm touch.

  
Then, slowly, he reached up and scratched over his jaw.

  
There was a warm trickle of blood down his neck, and then all the itching suddenly, mercifully stopped.  He slumped in place, weakened by the sheer relief. It was physical and mental both.

  
"I'm sorry," he murmured.  "You shouldn't be responsible either."

  
"In this case, I will manage."  Allura patted him on the shoulder, then gently guided him up. "Come.  Let's get you to quarantine."

  
Shiro followed her lead, docile if only because of how dizzy he was.  He felt too light, like his feet were only barely touching the ground.   It was a simple matter to get him changed into new clothes and decontaminated in the side chamber.   
  
When he stepped through, he was in the same, small room as the other four paladins.

  
All of whom were watching him.

  
Shiro hadn't noticed.  He should have known they could see and would be paying attention, but he'd been so lost in his head that the last several minutes and blinked past without him.

  
"You may page if you need anything," Allura said, voice slightly muffled by the heavy glass between them.  "I advise you all rest up. Coran will be by shortly for a meal, once we're certain our new position is safer than our last.  I advise you rest up in the meantime." With a nod of her head, Allura strode off, leaving them all together.   
  
There was silence.

  
Shiro shifted from one foot to the other, refusing to look up.  The lack of greeting was damning. After how he'd refused to visit them all and outright shunned Keith, he deserved nothing less. He'd known he was making a mistake each time, but he had persisted anyway.

  
"I'm sor—" he started.

  
He was interrupted by an absolute wave of voices.

  
"What was going on?  Were you fighting them?"

  
"I shouldn't have given in and left you alone, I should have been out there—"

  
"We didn't even think about all coming to you. I shouldn't have started it—"

  
"I'm sorry for freaking you out, I thought you'd be mad, not tempted—"

  
Shiro's head snapped up and his mouth fell open.  "What?" When they all started to speak again, he held up a hand.  "One at a time?"   
  
Lips pressed thin, Keith looked him over.  "You first. What were you saying?"

  
Oh, yes, that was fair.  Shiro winced, his shoulders rising up.  "I wanted to apologize for my behavior over the past few days.  The situation had strained my patience, which was why I avoided visiting you in quarantine.  I wasn't sure I could avoid the temptation if I knew you had escaped it. And my behavior to you, Keith, was especially awful.  I shouldn't have reacted that way to you. My anger wasn't at you, but that I was used to your support as a crutch, and having that end was difficult to adjust to.  That doesn't excuse anything, but I want you all to know that I'm deeply sorry."

  
He stared out at them.  Pidge and Hunk were sitting on one cot, while Keith leaned against the far wall, and Lance sat sideways in a chair by the Flux system.  

  
None of them looked as furious as he expected.

  
Why?

  
"That's why you avoided us?" Pidge asked, in that same small, young voice as when she'd come to him about scratching.

  
Shiro nodded, swallowing hard.

  
In a shot, she surged to her feet and dashed toward him.  Instinctively, Shiro backed away, but his back hit the wall nearest the decontamination unit.

  
Luckily, she wasn't attacking him.  Instead she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed tightly. 

  
Shiro stared at her, utterly astonished.  He rested a hand on her head, gently petting, before looking to the others for an explanation.

  
"We thought you were mad at us," Lance said quietly, folding his legs up to his chest.

  
Hunk winced and nodded.  "Yeah. In hindsight, I think we kind of... talked ourselves into a lather."  He pushed his bangs out of his face, looking older from the lack of his headband.  "We kinda realized we put a lot of pressure on you, and we were worried you might resent it."

  
"Of course not.  I won't lie and say it's always easy, but I appreciate the trust you all put in me.  It means more than I can ever explain." He looked over them all, then his eyes lingered on Keith, who still hadn't said anything.

  
Pushing off the wall, Keith's eyes fell to the scrape on Shiro's jaw.  "Did that happen in the fight?"

  
"How— you'd know from the alarm."  Shiro winced. He'd rather they not be aware and not have to worry, especially as more and more of his behavior slotted back into reality.  He'd not been there for a long while, which was ridiculously dangerous. Worse, Allura knew, which made Shiro want to hide under a blanket in pure shame.  "I handled that, you don't need to worry. And no, it was purposeful. The Princess said I was grounded for the next two weeks anyway. So I might as well not itch and not be alone."

  
"I'm sorry, I should have been there.  You shouldn't have been alone."

  
"That's not your job."  When Keith started to protest, Shiro continued on, drowning him out.  "I understand why you feel it is, and I even appreciate it. But it's not.  My behavior and my actions are my own responsibility." His fingers trailed up to the welt where the bite had been.  "Frankly, I really just want to lie down. Do I need to make amends later, or am I forgiven?"

  
Keith's expression finally softened.   He strode forward as well and took Shiro's hand to pull him into one of their hugs.  It was awkward, with Pidge still clinging between them, but they managed not to squish her.  "You're forgiven for showing a negative emotion for once. I'm glad you're not still mad."

  
"Of course not."  Shiro let go of him, then held out his arm toward Lance and Hunk.  "While I'm giving out hugs, feel free to take advantage."   
  


"Can we raincheck until after you sleep?  Because you kind of look like you're going to keel over."   
  


Shiro blinked slowly, expression flat.  "Thank you, Hunk."   
  


"He's right, man."  Lance took hold of the offered arm to gently usher Shiro toward one of the cots.  It took Pidge finally letting go, but Shiro sat down on one. "You need us to be quiet?"   
  


"No," Shiro replied gently, smiling at them all.  "Go ahead and talk. If anything, it helps remind me where I am."   
  


It was vulnerability, but calculated.  A very small shard of Shiro's fears, offered without a show.   
  


"You're going to regret that," Keith pointed out.  He sat down at the foot of the cot as Shiro flopped back down.  "You haven't heard how noisy they are."   
  


"I have, actually.  We've been in the same castle for several weeks now."   
  


"Not while you're trying to sleep."   
  


Hunk sat down on the cot next to Shiro's, pulling out a deck of cards.  He was joined immediately by Lance, whose enthusiasm was probably at least partly for Shiro's benefit.  "We're not that bad."   
  


Keith snorted.    
  


Settling in on the other side of the bed, Pidge bit her bottom lip, eyes still shining.  "Just rest up, Shiro." Then, more quietly, she added, "I'm glad you're safe."   
  


The words stabbed deep, because Shiro hadn't been very safe at all out there.  He'd be furious with anyone who pulled the same stunts. But he hadn't spared a thought to how that might hurt anyone watching.  No wonder Allura had been so frazzled and upset after. "I'm not leaving you just yet."   
  


Keith stiffened, but didn't comment at the subtle, dark remark.  Pidge smiled back, relieved at the face-value meaning.   
  


Closing his eyes, Shiro took a deep breath and let it go.  His body felt light and painless, mostly from the relief of no longer itching.  Even the swollen welts had mostly stopped hurting.   
  


Most importantly, he could hear his team around him.  They were laughing and joking, happy and safe.   
  


He'd allowed them relief and comfort.  Now he was allowed the same thing.   
  


In two weeks, he'd take the heavy mantle of responsibility back.  But for now, Shiro could rest.   
  


So he slept.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap.
> 
> Enjoy the finale, everyone!


End file.
